


A Friend In Need

by CGotAnAccount



Series: No Romo. [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith just needs to get off, M/M, Matt just wants to be helpful, OG Garrison Trio, later Sheith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-14 10:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17506502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: It starts with a smidgen of curiosity and an incurable thirst, like all good things in life.





	1. Chapter 1

It starts with a smidgen of curiosity and an incurable thirst, like all good things in life.

Keith had been boiling with pent up energy for weeks. His classmates had accused him of stalking through the halls, teeth bared like some kind of wild animal and a few of the braver ones had even gone as far as trying to talk to Shiro about it, as if his handler could simply spray him with water and pull Keith out of his foul mood.

Joke's on them, Keith already tried soaking himself in freezing waters in the shower. Just like he'd tried kicking the shit out of a heavy bag, the upperclassmen on the mat, and his own psyche. Shiro had tried to get him to do some mindfulness exercises with him, breathing in and counting to ten, then breathing out slowly and repeating... becoming one with the boring room around them, or something.

But the air conditioning vents were loud, and the kid across the room had a nose whistle when he exhaled, and Shiro's shirt was tight enough that his nipples poked through, and Keith was really just not that kind of stressed.

It wasn't lack of sleep, or a heavy workload, or a need to go jogging or anything like that.

He just really, _really_ needed to jerk off.

Or something. Anything. He'd be down to suck off Griffin at this point if it meant he could have ten minutes in dark closet and chance to blow his load. Hopefully all over that prick's uniform trousers if he did get that desperate.

And it really didn't help to have Shiro trailing after him like a concerned puppy, making sure he had enough vegetables on his tray, asking how long he slept, rubbing a hand across his shoulders. A hand that could span Keith's entire head. A hand that could leave nice fat red marks on his ass if...

No. A hand that was entwined with his boyfriend's more often than not in his free time. Which was fine. If Shiro was happy, Keith was happy.

The problem being, Keith was a little _too_ happy. All the time.

Stiff desert breeze? Boner.

Jello jiggling erotically on the tray at lunch? Not leaving the table anytime soon.

Sparring with Shiro and getting crushed into the mat? Thank god for compression shorts.

Even the parabolas he had been graphing earlier were starting to look the right kind of curvy...

The only time he wasn't rocking a semi these days was in the communal showers – in the aforementioned arctic blast. He hasn't risked turning it past chilly in weeks.

It seems like it would be common sense that a state of the art facility filled with hormonal young adults in their prime would have some sort of system for jerking off - maybe a nice dark room where someone could hang a sock on the door and beat their dick into submission before they died from chronic blue balls.

He had gotten so desperate that he'd tried to slyly ask Matt how he _relieved tension_ around here, but hadn't gotten much more than a speculative look in return.

“Sorry dude, I think they're trying to get you used to not jerking it for the long haul low-grav missions.” Matt had pulled a wry grin and shrugged, cleaning off his glasses on his uniform jacket. “Having spunk floating around could gum up the control panels and lead to catastrophic failure.”

Obviously the place was run by sadists and eunuchs.

The tension had gotten so bad that Keith had almost considered giving up and rubbing one out in his bunk - but every time his hands even started to wander southward the snores of the big guy down the row were a phlegmy reminder that there were seven other guys in there just waiting for him to trip up – and what better way to help the process along than leaking a picture of Keith with fingers up his asshole moaning like a cat in heat? Iverson would have him on disciplinary review faster than he could get off.

At this rate he was more concerned about cracking his molars and getting hypothermia in the showers than passing his classes and it was starting to show. Shiro had reached over to rub the line of tension from his shoulders and Keith had to turn the half moan into a growl as he jerked away. Neither were ideal for the situation, and Shiro's hurt face had him stuttering an apology and running away to the safety of the showers again.

He had even tried sneaking up to the roof to get off, but some asshole couple had the same idea right before him and had gotten caught fucking – hence the new shiny lock glinting in the light where it hung on the door to freedom.

Now Keith was ninety-five percent sure he was literally going insane. He had snapped at a classmate and felt more than a little feral baring the incisors that he hadn't realized were so prominent or useful. The poor kid had stumbled back in fear and fled down the hallway as Keith whirled to stalk back to his dorm, only to slam face first into Matt.

They go down in a tangle of limbs, Keith barely managing to slide a hand under Matt's skull as he lands hard on top of him. Matt's hands fist into the back of Keith jacket as he groans pathetically underneath, pushing his legs weakly against the floor in an effort to move.

“My spiiiiine...” Matt wheezes underneath him, giving a pathetic cough as Keith pushes up onto his forearms, sliding his hand out and letting Matt's head thunk onto the floor. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” Keith grunts out, moving to get up and offer a hand when Matt's thigh grazes his inseam, punching an involuntary whine out of his chest. “Fuck.”

Matt freezes underneath him, slowly unclenching his hands from the fabric of Keith's jacket and smoothing down the back.

“Yeah, about that...” He coughs, cheeks tinging pink as he looks anywhere but Keith's face. “I thought of a way to help with your... problem.”

Keith's head snaps up so fast Matt worries might have broken his neck.

“Yeah?”

Matt sits up and slides himself backward under Keith's unnerving gaze.

“Yeah, I ah... I have my own quarters actually, I don't know why I didn't think of it before...” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck before flicking a glance back up to Keith's face and continuing hastily at the intense look there. “But if you need some uh – _you time_... you're welcome to stop by, I can program it to open to you and get out of your hair.”

Despite it being one of the weirdest offers he's ever gotten, Keith can't help but love Matt a little in that moment. Leaning forward, he grabs Matt's shoulders and squeezes once, maybe a little to hard.

“Matthew Holt.” The intense look doesn't let up and Matt isn't sure whether Keith is going to kiss him or punch him – maybe both – but then his face breaks into a manic grin. “You are a godsend.”

Keith scrambles up and wraps an arm under Matt, yanking him to his feet and frog marching him down the hallway. Matt can barely keep his feet under him at the brisk pace, kept on his feet by Keith's strong grip on this arms. He laughs a little nervously as he's herded down the hallway.

“So I guess that's a right now then?”

“Oh.” Keith comes to an abrupt halt, yanking Matt to a stop with him. He wilts a little, like someone just told him sim day was canceled and he casts a hangdog look at Matt. “I guess I got a little ahead of myself there.”

Matt's heart cracks at the pathetic puppy dog eyes, which is kind of bullshit because this is a grown man going to jerk off in his bedroom and not some commercial with sad kittens. Still, he feels bad for the guy, Keith's been a hair trigger for weeks while Matt's been jerking it several times a day. He can throw the guy a bone this time.

“Nah man, it's fine.” He throws Keith an easy smile and starts walking again. “I've got tissues and lotion and everything in there. I can just let you in and head to the library for a bit.”

Keith makes a contemplative sound at that as he jogs to catch up.

“I don't need to kick you out. At this rate it'll probably take me a brush of the knuckles and a hard sneeze – two minutes tops.”

Matt makes a mental note to keep the pepper away from him at dinner.

“Listen man, no offense or anything but I think you could stand to go a few rounds.” Matt gives him a nervous grin as he eyes the obvious semi Keith is sporting, just from their brush earlier. “You know, work it out of your system while you can.”

Keith furrows his brow and looks down as his palms, clenching and unclenching them before looking back up at Matt. “You think so?” His face is the picture of innocence and Matt is going to combust if he has to have this conversation one second longer.

Thankfully, they hit his door and he slaps his palm to the reader before tapping in a code and slapping Keith's to it right after. It beeps green and opens with a whoosh, revealing his modest accommodations – no more than a bed, a small couch, and a desk. He shoves Keith inside immediately, jabbing one finger at the tissues on the desk and then toward the couch.

“Supplies over there, couch is pretty comfy, uh...” He cringes a little and makes brief eye contact with a rapidly flushing Keith. “Feel free to grab lube from the top drawer or a pillow if you need it.”

He wants to die on the spot.

“Matt...” Keith's voice is rough already and his pupils are blown in the dim lighting. He's definitely past the semi now. It looks like he's about to reach out, but thinks better of it and throws Matt a grateful smile instead. “Thanks man, I owe you one.”

Matt gives him a pained smile in response and steps backward out of the door.

“Anytime.” He squeaks, door sliding shut in his face.

It takes about two steps of retreat before the first groan and whimper float through the door and his pants are suddenly uncomfortably tight.

He is So fucked.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Matt's offer works out beautifully for the first few weeks – when Keith gets that twitchy look on his face, Matt gives him an eyebrow raise and a nod of his head, and Keith goes to Matt's room to jerk off until he can't see straight. He's even started bringing lotion and tissues to replace the ones he's using, and he takes out the trash when he's done.

Really it's the perfect symbiotic relationship. People are off Keith's back, Matt doesn't have to listen to Shiro's 'concerned mentor' shtick... and Matt gets blindingly hard when he walks into his own room because it smells like sex 100% of the time now.

So maybe there is one downside – but it's not like it's really a huge problem, he's a normal guy with normal needs... there's nothing wrong beating off a few times a week.

Or day.

It doesn't help that the room has one tiny window that doesn't help much in the 'air out Keith's sex musk' department. He's even tried snagging car fresheners from the rovers in the hanger and strategically placing them around the room.

Now he just gets hard smelling 'Ocean Breeze' too.

But really, it's not that big of a deal... until it becomes nearly Pavlovian. Now just sitting next to Keith at lunch and smelling his non-sex musk sets off that buzzing feeling in his veins, and more often than not it sends him right back to his dorm for a quick fondling of the sausage. He can tell that Keith is just as bad, too. Sometimes the guy will be fine, just sitting and chatting with Shiro and Matt will walk up and he'll take an inhale and get that funny look on his face and have to excuse himself shortly thereafter.

Matt makes sure to steer clear of his room on those days.

Unfortunately, it gets bad enough that Shiro notices. He corners Matt in the hall after their lecture lets out early, practically dragging him into his own room with a forced cheer that has Matt wondering if he could chew off his own arm to escape. Shiro nearly shoves him into a chair and hovers above him, brows furrowed and arms crossed.

“Spill it, Holt. What did you do to Keith?”

“What? Keith? I didn't do anything to him!” Matt attempts his best innocently outraged face. Shiro's brow arches higher in response and Matt knows that he has lost. He huffs, deflating and shrugging up at Shiro. “I really didn't, I just offered the guy my room to beat off in.”

Shiro's dramatic sputter sends spit flying and Matt winces as he wipes it off his glasses.

“You can't just push yourself on him like that!”

Matt scowls up at him as he cleans the lenses.

“My _room_ , Shiro, it's not like I bent him over the couch.” Shiro continues to gape like a fish, little aghast noises still leaking from his face. “He's seventeen and has nowhere to blow a load. You really think your breathing exercises were going to help with a hormonal guy who just wants to jam fingers up his asshole in peace?”

A squeak creeps out of Shiro's violently red face, as if he were mortified by the very idea of Keith not being as smooth as a Ken doll down there. Which Matt knows is a load of shit because he's seen Shiro, along with more than half the Garrison population, check out Keith's fantastic ass on several occasions. It's practically unofficial hazing at this point to watch him climb the steps into the sim without having uncomfortable thoughts.

“But he... and... that's... and your room...”

Shiro's brain has apparently not yet come back online, crashed by the mental image of his sweet Keith railing himself on Matt's couch - like he wasn't seventeen and desperate just a few years ago.

“Yes Shiro, and my room. It's fine.”

Shiro clears his throat, face still on fire as he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“But now you two are avoiding each other...”

Matt sighs and slumps back into the chair.

“We're not, it's just... you know Pavlov?” Shiro looks at him like he's crazy but nods anyway. “Now I remind him of the room where he goes to beat off, and the room where I beat off smells like him.”

Shiro blanches at the blunt explanation and clears his throat, mouth working uselessly as he drags a hand through his hair. “That's, uh...” He clears his throat again and gives up, shrugging at Matt with a cringe.

“Yeah.” Matt's flat look and crossed arms have Shiro looking sheepish now. “So if you don't mind, I have things to do that don't involve being interrogated for 'corrupting' your puppy.”

Shiro rubs the back of his neck and steps away from the chair, scowling faintly. “He's not my puppy...”

Matt hauls himself up and makes his way to the door, throwing Shiro a bland look over his shoulder.

“Then stop treating him like a kid.”

He steps out and the door slides shut behind him, a satisfying mic drop for the scariest minutes of his life. It could have gone so much worse. He scurries down the hallway, half afraid that Shiro is going to realize he just admitted to jerking off to Keith's smell and come hunt him down to restore his honor.

And speaking of jerking off to certain smells, his shoulders are so tense he's probably going to get tendinitis after this session. The urge to relieve the stress of the last fifteen minutes is so strong he doesn't even pause when he gets to his room, slapping a hand on the sensor and barreling inside, peeling his belt off with a groan as he goes.

Except the groan isn't his.

Keith's eyes fly open before he flinches away from the hallway light blinding him, one hand on his dick and the other tweaking his own nipples as Matt stops dead in the doorway. It takes about one second for the shock to wear off before he yelps and scrambles for his uniform jacket, hastily throwing it over his lap where it tents impressively.

“Christ, Matt, you scared the shit out of me.” He wheezes, not exactly ashamed, but clearly turning pink at the ears. Matt thinks he might be aiming for nonchalance as he drags a hand through his hair, but it leaves a glistening trail of pre-cum through the strands.

“Didn't know you were in here.” Matt croaks at him, eyes darting between his lap, chest, and hair before eventually landing firmly at a point about six inches over Keith's shoulder. His own dick gives a sympathetic throb as Keith's jacket shifts seemingly of it's own will. “I'd have... knocked?”

Keith chuckles dryly. “Well, it's your room.” His eyes flick down sheepishly before meeting Matt's again. “I thought you'd be in your lecture a bit longer.”

Incapable of anything else, Matt nods helplessly at him.

“Got out early today so...” He makes the mistake of gesturing to his partly undone belt before flushing to his ears immediately. “Was just... relieving stress.”

“Ah.” Keith coughs into his fist, stretching one long leg out, trying to reach his pants on the floor and drag them closer with his foot. He keeps one hand firmly clamped on the jacket covering his not yet flagging erection. Matt's pretty sure the jacket is going to have a wet spot. “I'll just... leave you to it then...” Keith's toe is just short of the pant leg and he bites his lip in frustration, baring the side of one asscheek as he shifts closer.

“You don't have to!” Matt blurts before clamping a hand over his traitorous mouth. Keith stills his efforts, eyeing Matt with an arched brow. He looks pointedly at Matt's uniform pants, bulging now where he had gotten them unzipped. Matt crosses his arms defensively and looks to the side, cheeks hot. “I just mean you're nearly done and we're both guys anyway.”

“Matt, I'm super gay.” Keith deadpans, mouth pulling to the side. “There's nothing 'no homo' about this. I like dudes, if I jerk off around you that's gonna be gay too.”

Matt sputters, only half wishing he could die on command.

“I know that!” He flails a hand at Keith with a scowl borne from embarrassment. “I'm not completely straight myself, I'm just saying it's nothing we haven't seen before.” Keith looks contemplative and Matt finds himself babbling despite knowing better. “Besides, there's nothing wrong with friends helping each other out.”

“Huh.” Keith narrows his eyes at him, head cocked as he eyes Matt up and down. His death grip on the jacket eases. “Well, I was nearly desperate enough to hate-fuck Griffin the other day... and you're a hell of a sight better looking than he is.”

Matt can't help but preen at that, a compliment from an attractive boy who considers you better than a hate-fuck is still a compliment, after all. He shoots Keith a crooked grin and throws one arm out, gesturing down his own body while tucking his thumb into his waistband with the other.

“Well, here I am!”

Keith snorts and reclines on the couch, sliding the jacket off his lap and revealing an intimidatingly large erection, still slick and now nearly purple. He pats his chest cheekily and arches one eyebrow in challenge.

“Come on then.”

Later, Matt will blame his inability to back down from a dare for how quickly he ripped off his own uniform and crawled into Keith's lap. He'll blame teenage hormones for how great it felt to rut into a tight fist, Keith's slick flesh pressed against his own... maybe he'll blame Keith for being so damn pretty that he had to kiss him.

But he's really got no one to blame but himself for wanting to do it again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The jizz is barely congealing into a sticky mess between them when Matt peels himself off Keith's chest. It had been a convenient place to collapse into a panting heap, and Keith was a lot less bony than he looked. He's not sure who got off first, but the puddle between them is frankly an impressively disgusting display and he can't help but pull a face and nod toward it.

Keith catches his look and snorts, rippling a wave of it out of his belly button in a gooey trail that cascades down the cut of his pelvis.

It really should be objectively horrifying, but it was a fantastic idea, and Matt's only a man.

“So, this isn't gonna be a feelings thing when we do it again, right?”

A man with little shame apparently - and enough of an asshole to have this conversation still covered in another man's cum.

Thankfully, he gets a fully belly laugh out of Keith with that one, head thrown back cackling as the cooling slime oozes down him and pools between his splayed thighs. Matt grimaces at the puddle on the couch cushion – it's going to be a bitch to scrub out later.

“But Mattycakes!” Keith bats his eyelashes at him and puts on a full doe-eyed pout. If it wasn't for the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth it would have killed Matt on the spot. “I thought I was going to have your babies!”

Matt whips a pillow at him with a groan. It makes him feel a little better when it nails Keith in the head but he can still feel his cheeks heating as Keith snickers behind it.

“Shut up, punk.” He grumbles at his couch mate, mildly disgusted as Keith uses the pillow to wipe spunk off his front. “I was just making sure.” Keith throws the sticky pillow back at him and Matt tumbles off the couch with a yelp to avoid it. “You're disgusting.”

Keith sucks on his teeth and shrugs, shooting a grin down at Matt's crumpled form as he stands to stretch. His eyes close and lean muscles stand out enticingly as he arches, twisting around to pop his back. Matt doesn't even realize he's staring until a foot nudges his shin, accompanied by a stupid smug look and a knowing eyebrow directed down at him.

“See something you like?” Both dark eyebrows are waggling now, neat enough that he wonders briefly if Keith gets them done, then remembers the man has a self cut mullet. The shit eating grin doesn't help his look either. “Cause I hear that sometimes friends-”

“Auuuughhhh.” Matt's dramatic groan and attempted kick to the ankle cuts off Keith's witty commentary with another laugh. He takes the moment of peace to pout up at him from the floor, trying for all the world to look like a put-out cat, the way certain other people manage to do effortlessly.

At least Keith has the decency to give him a hand up for his troubles.

Matt takes the opportunity to brush imaginary dust off himself, ignoring the fact that he's really just dragging his hands over crusted bodily fluid – and the fact that they're both still stark naked. It's a great time to check his cuticles nonchalantly and be smug that he's still got an inch or two on him until Keith hits his growth spurt. Keith crosses his arms and cocks out a hip, waiting out Matt's antics with a teasing grin.

“Worried I'm going to ask you for a cab fare?” He earns a sputtered laugh and a punch on the arm as Matt snags his pants off the floor. “Cause you're never going to keep me out of your den of sin now that I know I can get someone else's hand on my dick.”

“I know, I'm irresistible.” Matt throws a wink over his shoulder as he tugs his pants back on with a grimace, snagging a towel from the back of his chair. He jerks his thumb toward the dresser on his way to the door. “I got shorts in the bottom drawer if you wanna wear them to the shower.” He eyeballs Keith's chest, mostly wiped but still flaking. “Maybe a shirt too... but I better get that shit back!”

“Of course, dear.” Keith simpers as he snags a pair of basketball shorts. “I'll clean for you, cook for you, make you feel so good...”

“God, no.” Matt groans, crossing his arms and glaring at Keith. “You're as bad a cook as Shiro. Stick to sucking dick and laundry, Sweetcheeks.”

Keith snorts and shakes his head. “Haven't sucked your dick yet, I might bite.” He flashes suspiciously pointy canines in Matt's direction, and Matt is quickly getting the stirrings of the world's weirdest boner.

“Yet.” He drawls, licking his own tooth before trailing out the door.

He looks pretty rough in open uniform trousers with a crusty chest and a towel flung over his shoulder. His pink shower caddy completes the image, and he hums along cheerily as he passes a few classmates in the hallway. It occurs to him, perhaps a little late, that usually this particular walk of shame is made at 3AM, not 3PM... but he still think the looks he's getting are a little judgy. What if he, Matt Holt, had decided to take up gym-going? That's a thing people get sweaty for at 3pm. He could have had an intense sim run, or he could have been in one of Shiro's intense sim runs where he makes enough loops that Matt barfs everywhere. Or he could have been in a bio containment lab and needs to wash off flesh eating bacteria.

His salt continues until he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror and has to do a double take.

That bastard let him walk right out of the room in broad daylight with a shoulder full of fucking bite marks sucked into his skin and the world's most obvious case of sex hair.

“That bastard.” He growls under his breath, attempting to flatten his hair at he tosses his caddy down in the communal showers. The water snaps on with a hiss and gets to steaming quickly enough for Matt to drown his shame before anyone else notices.

Then Keith rolls in, looking like he just got out of the gym with his flushed cheeks and Matt's stolen athletic wear - it almost looks like he went another round in the five minutes alone. His gaze snaps to Matt's incredulous face before trailing to his shoulder, and his grin is razor sharp as he yanks the shirt over his head in one smooth movement. It's effortlessly cool in a way that makes Matt certain he would have gotten stuck trying to replicate it. For the sake of his sanity, Matt whirls back around and scrubs furiously at his chest and hair.

“Hey Matt.” A nonchalant voice comes from beside him, stepping under the next shower head and turning it up so hot Matt thinks his skin might peel off from the proximity. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Matt gives him a sidelong look in return. “Leech.”

Keith snorts and slicks his hair back under the spray, looking perfectly content while boiling alive.

“You weren't complaining when they got there.”

Matt rolls his eyes and grabs his conditioner. “I had a slick hand jerking my dick, you could have stolen my kidney without me noticing.”

Keith quirks a smile without opening his eyes, the spray pouring over his neck and shoulders.

“Next time.”

Matt snorts as he washes the soap from his face, throwing a look over at his new favorite lobster. Keith doesn't appear to be making any moves toward actually showering at all.

“You know, most people get in showers to scrub a little.” He shakes a small bottle in Keith's face. “Sometimes with soap even.”

Keith cracks an eye open and bats the bottle away.

“I haven't managed anything but a cold shower in weeks, Holt. Sue me.”

Matt chuckles, rinsing and turning off his water as he turns to Keith's drowning attempt. His eyes are closed again as he tilts back under the spray and goes boneless, and Matt can't have that. He throws a glance at the entrance of the showers, searching for unwanted eyes, and steps to Keith when he's satisfied they're alone. One hand wraps up his muscled chest to flick a nipple and the other circles Keith's thick base and strokes up twice, pressing flush against his ass before pulling away abruptly.

Keith jerks back with a whimper and his eyes fly open, flashing into dangerous slits.

“You fucker!” He hisses, already half hard and growing.

Matt grins back at him and wraps the towel around his waist. “Mmm, not right now.” He gives Keith a two fingered salute as he steps out of the room. “Payback's a bitch, _dear._ ”

Keith's groan echoes off the tile as he flips the shower back to freezing.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

It takes Matt less than 48 hours to learn that Keith is both the most evil and least subtle human on the planet. In fact, he might not even be human with whatever freakish stamina he's got going on and the apparent lack of refractory period – powers that he could be using for good, for both of their sakes.

But no. He's just casually in Matt's room at all hours, usually shirtless and disheveled, and _just_ finishing himself off every time Matt gets home. How dedicated to revenge does your fuck buddy have to be to stalk your schedule for the sole purpose of turning your dick to stone the moment you step inside. At this point Matt has started to wonder if Keith put a tracker on his bag, or has such freakishly good hearing that he can hear Matt's boots coming down the hall – how else can you explain opening the door to six different back-arched, head-thrown-back, drawn-out-moaning orgasms?

The devil's work, clearly.

And the worst part is that when Keith finishes shooting up to his own chin or into a fist he just... licks it off casually, straightens his clothes, and leaves with that smug fucking look. He just leaves! Like Matt isn't standing there about to faint from the blood rush to his dick. Like he's got better places to be after masturbating on Matt's poor couch for who knows how long, just waiting to pop out like the world's sexiest jack in the box and hose the couch down in semen again!

The couch really is getting kind of sticky, they should do something about that...

It only takes until lunch on the second day for Matt to break down in public. He was just sitting there, eating his sub-par food, minding his own goddamn business and talking to Shiro when Keith just strolls in and plops down with tray. Like he's going to eat, like he's not a demon. Demons don't even need to eat, he has no reason to be here.

But here he is, like a lying liar, getting ready to eat. He's chatting with Shiro, all smiles as he twirls what is technically spaghetti onto a fork and shoves it into his mouth. There is far too much on the fork but in it goes anyway, bulging his cheeks out as he sucks up one noodley tail. Matt swears he flicks a smirking look up to him, but it's gone before he can do anything but chew angrily on his 'meatloaf'.

Shiro doesn't even notice. He just keeps talking on and on about sim scores and how smooth Keith's last run was, totally oblivious to the little shit wrapping his lips around his straw with sultry eyes. Keith pulls off the straw with a pop to ask a question about blah blah blah pilot garbage and Shiro lights up, launching into some rambling explanation of g-force compensation and fuel cell burnout.

Matt very briefly thinks he may have been saved from his torment by the god of sweaty flyboys, but then Keith's foot is trailing up the inside of his calf and he knees the table so hard it nearly spills his drink. He inhales a chunk of loaf the wrong way and coughs until his eyes water, one spasming violently as he grabs for the glass and chugs.

“Oh my god, Matt are you okay?” Shiro's face is full of his usual golden boy concern as he reaches across the table to pat him on the back. Lucifer incarnate has the face of an angel, giving him a big doe-eyed look of bullshit as his toe continues to stroke up and down the fabric of Matt's slacks.

“Fine.” Matt croaks to Shiro, firmly ignoring the other occupant of the table. “Just went down the wrong way.”

“Mmm, you gotta be careful eating meat.” Keith's smirk almost passes for concern as he drops his chin into his hand. “Especially in loaf form.”

Shiro nods sagely next to him, as if that was legitimate advice and not ridiculous bullshit meant to slander Matt's image of someone who can both chew and swallow all on his own.

“That's true, this one time I tried to make mac and cheese loaf and it conglomerated into such a solid yet amorphous lump that I almost suffocated trying to bite a piece off.”

Keith pulls a sympathetic face and pats Shiro on the shoulder. “I'm glad you pulled through buddy.” Shiro's soft smile aimed at him in return has Matt wishing there was a nearby garbage can to barf into.

He heaves a sigh, thoroughly done with his 'food' and determined to make it back to his dorm before Keith can somehow teleport inside and blow his load all over his pillow. Pushing back proves to be a challenge when Keith hooks an ankle behind his knee like lighting and tugs the second Matt goes to stand, buckling his leg and sending Matt crashing back down into his chair with a groan. Shiro practically throws himself across the table to keep Matt's face from becoming one with the loaf and he grabs Matt's shoulder with one big hand, pressing the back of the other to his forehead.

“Matt are you sure you're okay?” He flips his hand and presses his palm to Matt's cheek, eyes filled with sweet, sweet ignorance. “You're flushed and stumbling... let me get you back to your dorm.”

Keith's sickly sweet face flashes to annoyance for half a second before sliding firmly into sly territory. He curls one hand around Shiro's bicep and squeezes, fluttering his eyelashes up into his face with his best 'I'm just a poor innocent baby, you can trust my every word' expression.

“Shiro.” He breathes, eyebrows pulling upward as he bites his lip. “You don't want to be late to your PT after this.” He runs his hand up and down Shiro's buff arm for emphasis, expression never wavering as Shiro's face slowly turns pink and his higher brain function dribbles out his ears. “I can take Matt back, I have a break after this.”

Shiro is clearly at war with himself, equally concerned for Matt's health and Keith's study time. Then Keith breaks out the big guns. His face goes achingly soft and he trails his hand down to Shiro's, squeezing once before letting go and trailing over to plant it firmly on Matt's shoulder.

“You're always so busy taking care of us.” His voice is somewhere between a Southern belle and the intro to softcore porn, and Matt wishes he knew how to vomit on command. “Let me take care of you two for once.”

Predictably, Shiro melts and claps a hand on Keith's shoulder, smiling down at him with pride and... something else.

“Okay. I trust you Keith.” He squeezes once before turning to Matt and ruffling his hair. “Relax, okay? Get some rest.”

Matt grunts once and waits for him to leave with one last sappy look at their table, before he slams his palms down in front of his tray.

“What the fuck was that?!”

Keith's sweet and innocent act has been entirely replaced by the smirking deviant Matt finds on his couch every day.

“What was what?” He shoots Matt a wink as he snags the meatloaf off the tray and stabs it to pieces with his fork. “Did you really want Shiro to walk your 'sick' self back to your room where it reeks of sex with a giant cum stain on the couch?”

Matt rolls his eyes so hard he's afraid he might have sprained something. “First of all, that stain is from you, you nasty fucker. I even got baby wipes so you can wipe that shit before you smear it all over the place.” Keith rolls his eyes in response but nods as Matt holds up his second finger. “And secondly, there wouldn't have been a 'sick' if you had kept your sinful urges to yourself!”

Keith snorts loudly at Matt's declaration, trailing off into giggles as he continues to mangle the meatloaf. His smile is infectious as he shoots Matt a look up through his bangs.

“You seemed pretty alright with my sinful urges before.”

Matt scowls at him, adjusting himself through his slacks. “That was before I had to walk into my room and get ambushed by a fountain of splooge every time I wanted to study.”

“Mmm.” Keith's face is anything but sympathetic as he hums in Matt's direction. He plucks a soggy fry from the tray and sniffs it warily before nibbling the end and grimacing. “Probably shouldn't have interrupted my hot shower.”

“I said I was sorry!” Matt practically explodes. The cafeteria goes quiet around them for a moment and Keith arches his eyebrow and shoots him a wicked grin as he steals another fry. Matt deflates again and slumps onto his elbows, content to let Keith steal his soggy food. “Okay, so maybe I didn't.” He hisses, quietly this time. “But I thought about it.”

Keith chews thoughtfully for a moment, eyeing Matt's begrudgingly apologetic form. Seemingly satisfied by the level of pathetic, he nods and pushes away from the table.

“Alright then, let's get going.” He circles the table and hauls Matt up with an arm around his waist, slinging Matt's arm over his own shoulders. “Can't have you out of bed for too long - Golden Boy's Orders”

“Oh?” Matt croaks, going willingly with Keith's tight hold on him as he manhandles him out into the hallway. “I guess not...”

Keith turns to look up at him as they hobble along. “Don't worry, baby.” His canines gleam beneath the predatory look in his eyes. “I'll be happy to nurse you back to health.”

The air leaves Matt in a wheeze and he suddenly finds himself walking funny for a very different reason. His skin is practically on fire as Keith finally palms his doorway and shoves him down onto the couch. Their clothing is stripped off before he can blink and Keith is hovering over him, one hand caressing Matt's cheek and the other thumbing his own cock.

Matt quirks an eyebrow at him and can't help his snark. “Is that your tongue depressor, Doctor?”

Keith barks a laugh and slides his thumb inside Matt's mouth, pushing down on his tongue as he nudges closer.

“Nah, but I heard semen is medicinal.”

And of course, because Matt is a man of science, a claim like that requires rigorous scientific trials...

 


	5. Chapter 5

Matt is vaguely queasy and picking hair out of his tonsils ten minutes after they collapse on the couch together. Science had dictated that they run several trials to test Keith's hypothesis, but all he can say for sure is that swallowing that much cum makes your stomach feel like it's full of eels. Keith doesn't look that much better from where he leans on the other arm of the couch and burps, screwing up his face and barely suppressing a gag after.

“No offense, man...” His stomach ripples a bit, obviously fighting down another burp. “But if I even look at your dick right now I'm gonna puke.”

Which Matt thinks is a pretty fair assessment of the situation. He grabs a pillow and plants it firmly over his crotch, shooting Keith a finger gun. “Anything for you, baby.”

The attempt at a smarmy grin is ruined by the green tinge to his face.

Keith huffs a laugh and grabs his own pillow, curling up on his side and tucking his feet underneath Matt's folded legs. “Can you magically make some Pepto appear too? I feel like I ate glue.”

“Eeh.” Matt grimaces, fighting back his own nausea as he shifts to tuck Keith's freezing toes somewhere more comfortable. “I feel like glue wouldn't feel so... squirmy. This is more like boiled okra.”

“Ugh, stop talking.” Keith slaps a hand over his mouth and burps again, wincing and swallowing loudly. “This was the worst idea ever.”

“You're the one who said it was medicinal!”

“It was a come-on – and not even a good one! You're the loser that fell for it!”

“Ugh.” Matt groans and slumps back over. “Whatever, next time 'come-on' my face instead.”

“You are the fucking worst and so was that joke.” Keith sputters back, wiggling his toes in the crook of Matt's knees. “But fine, I'll aim for your eyes then next time.”

Matt shrugs back at him and rubs his stomach with a grimace. “Can't be worse than three rounds down the hatch.”

Keith inclines his head in agreement, mirroring his disgusted face. “It's not like you've been eating much pineapple either.”

Matt exhales sharply through his nose, head hanging backward off the arm of the couch. It doesn't help the nausea much but neither does looking at Keith's flushed and sweaty body – if they go another round he will die. He could almost fall asleep like this, legs tangled together in a vaguely uncomfortable way, if not for the persistent squirmy feeling in his gut.

“You know...” Keith's voice is thoughtful bordering on sly, prompting Matt to lift his head back up and quirk an eyebrow at him. His expression is somewhere between a toddler with their first bad idea and an old cartoon villain scheming. “I bet we could get Shiro to drop off some of the anti-nausea meds from the infirmary, you did go to your room sick after all.”

Matt envisions himself taking the time to explain to Keith why exactly that would be a bad idea. He could list all the distinct reasons they should avoid bringing their 'slightly older but somehow thinks he's a forty year old mother of teenagers' friend into the den of sin to judge them harshly... but sometimes you need to let people learn things all on their own.

“Wow, buddy.” Matt injects as much manic cheer and definitely not sarcasm as possible into his voice while letting his head flop backwards again. “That sounds like a totally great idea, you should message him.”

Keith perks up and leans across to snag his data pad from the pile of assorted clothing on the floor, tongue poking between his teeth as he taps out a short message. It sends with a whoosh and a chirp, and he rests it back down on his sweaty abs for the whole forty-five seconds it takes for Shiro to respond. Matt is mildly offended, Shiro never gets back to him that fast, fucker must have a special message tone set for Keith.

“He'll be here in ten minutes!” He waits for Keith to grin triumphantly over the screen at him before ruining his hopes and dreams. Those big, dark eyes look at his silent countenance and are met with an arched eyebrow and a pointed look at their tangled naked bodies, the clothes in disarray all over the floor, and the overpowering stench of sex. His eyes blow wide, panicked as he scrambles off the couch and whips around to stare at the disaster zone.

“Oh shit.”

Matt throws his head back and howls in laughter, clutching his stomach as he rolls off the couch at Keith's horrified face.

“Don't laugh, asshole, help me clean!”

“Buddy, my dude, my man...” Matt wheezes from the floor as he wipes at his eyes. “There is no salvaging this.”

“We can at least put some fucking pants on!” Keith hisses as he digs through the pile of clothes for his own. He sends Matt's flying toward his still giggling face before tugging his on frantically. The rest of the uniform is a lost cause, and Keith elects to pull on his undershirt alone. It instantly sticks to his sweaty skin and only causes his ruffled hair to stick up further as he yanks it over his head. He drags a hand through, getting stuck on a knot halfway before giving up and throwing his hands in the air.

Matt still hasn't moved from his heap, snickering at the haystack on Keith's head as he flits about the room trying to straighten the knocked over chair and desk with papers swept entirely off.

“He's gonna know one way or another, you know.”

Keith whirls on him, looking half crazed. “I don't care if he knows, he was worried and I don't want him to think I lied about taking care of you!” He heaves Matt up by the armpits and throws him onto the bed, yanking the covers up to his chin with a growl. “Now, stay put.”

“Holy fuck.” Matt's eyes blow wide at the manhandling and he has to crush his dick flat to his abdomen for a minute to avoid the round four that will definitely make him puke up about a pint of cum. “You're strong.”

Dark eyes roll at him, but Keith definitely pauses to preen for a moment and throws him a crooked smirk. “Later.” His eyes narrow and he stalks over again to jab a finger into Matt's bare chest. “Right now you're dying, got it?”

The tone sends shivers through him and Matt snaps a crisp salute before dutifully slumping onto his pillow. He lets out a long sigh, punctuated by a weak cough. “It's probably consumption...” He pauses for a moment with a grin that morphs into a pout when Keith doesn't laugh. “Get it? Because I consumed too much of your-”

“Yes, I get it!” The blush spreading like wildfire across Keith's cheeks is validation enough to make up for his snippy tone and Matt settles back into the pillows again. Keith scowls at the floor as he mumbles under his breath. “You're gross.”

“Pfft.” Matt flaps his hand in Keith's direction, closing his eyes and settling into the 'half dead' mindset. “Again, you weren't complaining when-”

This time it's a knock at the door that cuts him off, and they freeze like deer in the headlights.

“Matt? Keith?” The knocking continues as Shiro calls through the door. “I brought the medicine.”

Matt throws a wink and goes limp as Keith tugs his t-shirt down one more time and opens the door.

“Hey Shiro, thanks for coming on such short notice.” His voice is as smooth as he can manage after choking on dick for forty minutes. “He's really not looking great.”

Matt groans for effect and cracks an eye open to look at Shiro, but the bastard is staring at Keith with a wrinkled nose.

“I can tell...” He hesitates, looking around the disaster of a room. “Did he get sick in here? It smells a little iffy.”

Keith flushes red and coughs into his fist, nose wrinkling up as well as he darts a look at Matt's best corpse impression.

“Yeah, he might've lost some fluids here or there.”

“Hmm.” Shiro narrows his eyes in Matt's direction and a sudden chill goes down his spine. “Well I brought the anti nausea meds and some soup if you think he can keep it down.” He looks back toward Keith and really eyes him this time. “You're not looking to great yourself.”

“Ah, well.” Keith stutters, wringing his hands as he continues with the guilty looks toward Matt. “Yeah, he's probably contagious I guess.” He coughs again as the overuse of his throat catches up with him. “I might take you up on the soup if he can't handle it.”

Shiro furrows his brow in concern and plants the back of his palm on Keith's forehead. “You are a little warm...” His mouth pulls to the side as he takes in the two of them again, eyes pulling to Keith's collar. “And it looks like you're breaking out in hives.”

“Oh that!” Keith squeaks, eyes like saucers as he scratches frantically to mar the circular shape of the light mark on his neck. “Yeah, that happens sometimes when I get... too... hot?”

Matt is dying a slow death trying not to slap himself in the face listening to Keith blow their cover to bits. At this rate he might as well have been getting railed over his desk as Shiro spoon fed him the soup - he's pretty sure Bae Bae could have made a more convincing story. Once Shiro leaves they need to have a little chat about alibis and interrogation resistance if his partner in crime is going to crack under a soft gaze and some soup.

Shiro gives Matt another hard stare before turning back to Keith. “Well if you'd like we can quarantine you in my extra room for the weekend.” He dials the charming smile up to eleven and plants his hand on Keith's shoulder. “I'm sure Adam won't mind.”

For a second it looks like Keith is going to break, but then the reminder of two people to call his sweaty bluff is enough to knock him out of his Shiro induced awe.

“Er, well, thanks but...” Keith rubs the back of his neck and shoots a look up through his lashes. “I don't really want to leave Matt alone to suffocate on his puke, and if we really are that contagious I don't want to get you sick too.”

Shiro slumps a little, half a pout forming on his face. “I don't mind Keith, you're never a bother.”

“I know, Shiro.” Keith reaches out to pat Shiro on the shoulder in return. “And I can't tell you how much I appreciate that.” He gives it a squeeze that has a smile fluttering back onto Shiro's face and Matt has to resist the urge to puke even more. Then the hand falls along with Shiro's expression. “But right now I think I should stay here for everyone's sake.”

“Keith...” Shiro looks pained as he throws another look around the room, and Matt can tell the moment when he finally catches sight of the trashcan full of tissues next to the half empty bottle of lube. His face goes violently red in seconds and he thrusts the medicine and soup container into Keith's hands. “You're right!” He stutters, taking a few quick steps backward, stumbling on a pile of clothes as he goes. He looks down to see Keith's uniform jacket in a crumpled heap with Matt's pants. His eyes blow even wider and his mouth drops open in shock. “I need to-”

He slaps blindly at the door and stumbles through when it opens with a hiss, practically blinking out of existence the second he is able. Keith is still standing in the middle of the room, utterly bewildered and cradling the containers.

“Uh, bye then?”

The door hisses shut in response.

Matt snickers, throwing off the covers as he makes grabby hands at the bottle. “Gimme the meds before I puke all over you.”

Keith shrugs and twists the cap off, taking a long swing for himself before tossing the bottle over to Matt. The soup container gets plopped onto the desk where he works on prying the lid off, still hungry from his abandoned meatloaf. He takes one look at the inside and slams it back on with a groan, pushing it to the corner of the desk.

“What kind is it?” Matt quirks an eyebrow at him as he takes sips from the bottle. “Chicken noodle? Vegetable?”

Keith plops into the chair miserably and fixes him with a look. He pops the lid off again and closes his eyes, thrusting the container out toward Matt. Inside is some sort of viscous lumpy substance, off-white and thick.

Keith's response comes muffled through the hand over his mouth.

“Cream of potato.”

They're going to need more meds.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Matt manages to avoid Shiro for almost two days – during most of which he uses Keith's proximity as a human shield when leaving his room. It's not like he's _hiding_ per se, he just... doesn't see Shiro. Or if he does see Shiro, Shiro doesn't happen to see him, and Matt has somewhere else to be and it's very important of course sooo... these things just happen sometimes.

And if the one time Shiro did see him he happened to yank Keith bodily in front of himself and dart around the corner could he really be blamed? He was sick the day before after all, it could easily have been a dash to the bathroom to throw up... or to hide in the stall and admire the graffiti as normal people do from time to time.

_Team Lunk wuz hereee!_

_Iverson can eat my ass._

_Keith sucks his way to the top._

Matt snickers at the last one, pulling out his sharpie and doodling a little thumbs up '10/10' next to it. It was probably meant to be an insult, but he'd never pass up an opportunity to put in a good word for his buddy.

Maybe if he gets lucky Shiro will see it and the vein in his head will explode, giving him a sliver of retrograde amnesia that will cover the past week or two.

“Holt.” Standard issue uniform boots appear in front of his stall and cut off his musings. “I know you're in there.”

Matt cringes and recaps his sharpie after adding the floof to his doodle of an angry Shiro. He clears his throat and deepens the pitch of his voice as much as he can.

“Ocupado bro, sorry.”

The boots shuffle closer and there's a long sigh and a muffled thunk on the other side of the stall door.

“Come on Matt, I just want to chat.” Shiro's tone is wheedling and Matt can just picture the innocent look on his face belying his murderous intent. Then he sighs again, softer. “I thought we were friends.”

Matt winces hard at that one, knowing he's kind of ditched Shiro during half of their normal hangouts lately. Can he really be blamed though? It was either skip time with Shiro and get the best brojob of his life, or go and be uncomfortable with a boner in public while thinking about the best brojob of his life. And Shiro had a boyfriend already, it's not like he could even relate to how deprived Matt had been before the best idea of his life had turned it all around.

“Shiro, of course we're friends.” Matt plants his hands on the other side of the stall door, palm to palm from where he imagines Shiro is leaning tearfully. If this were a movie now would be the time for a cutaway shot to capture their earnest heart to heart through the barrier, right before all is forgiven and Matt doesn't get his ass kicked.

“Then why won't you talk to me, Matt?” Shiro's voice is suddenly less morose and more flinty, whittling away at Matt's hopes to hug it out. “I've been trying to catch you for a while now, but apparently you've been... busy.”

Matt clears his throat uncomfortably and wishes he could force extreme gastrointestinal distress on command.

“Well you see Shiro, the thing is I've had some things going on.” He tugs at his collar, glad Shiro can't see him start to sweat. “And being sick and all didn't help.”

“Thank goodness you had Keith to nurse you back to health.” Shiro cuts across him dryly, boots shuffling under the door. “I don't think you could have taken losing so much fluid without him there to help you replace it.”

“Oh yes.” Matt squeaks, pinching the bridge of his nose and weighing the odds of climbing through the air vent before Shiro could snag his ankles and yank him back down. “With the soup. The fluidy soup that you got me. Because you're my best friend. And you care about my physical well being and would never hurt me.”

Shiro grunts and the door lock jostles with the change in weight as he leans against it fully.

“You're right, I wouldn't.” He sighs for a third time and Matt is afraid Shiro will pass out of he keeps it up at this rate. “Come on Matt, I just want to talk.”

A bead of sweat trickles from his temple as Matt gulps audibly and slides the flimsy lock aside, ready to come out. Instead Shiro's weight against the door has him barreling into the cramped stall, and in a blink Matt is crowded up against the wall as the door gets kicked shut and locked again.

“The game is over, Holt.” Shiro growls, caging him in as Matt considers diving under the door to safety. “Did you think I'd stand here and let you break Keith's heart?”

Matt is so busy calculating escape routes and chances of dismemberment that he almost misses Shiro's absurd question. As it is, he has to do a double take back to the pissed off face of his best friend, barking an involuntary cackle right into it. Shiro's brows pull together even closer, his expression thunderous, and Matt realizes through his giggles that he's going to get his first ever swirly if he doesn't stop laughing. He shudders out a final wheezy breath and holds up his hands, half in self defense and half in placation.

“Shiro I swear it's not like that.” He can feel his face trembling with the effort not to laugh again at the mental image of Keith the Homemaker just waiting to take his coat after a long day. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“Maybe to you it doesn't!” Shiro is practically snarling as he takes another step closer. “But Keith has been through some shit and he doesn't need to have his feelings toyed with by someone who can't love him like he deserves!”

Matt blinks up at him as Shiro heaves, not willing to unpack that lunar module worth of baggage. He plants one hand on Shiro's chest and gently pushes him backward, his own face uncharacteristically serious.

“Shiro... do you really think I'd do that to him?” His mouth pulls to the side, mildly hurt that Shiro would even consider the option. “Next to you, he's my best friend - almost like a brother if we weren't... well...”

Shiro deflates at Matt's wounded look and slumps against the opposite side of the stall. He drags a hand through his hair and looks up at Matt through his lashes with a grimace.

“No, of course I don't, I.... I'm sorry Matt.” He drops his hands down and clenches his fists, staring at them blankly. “I know you would never hurt him, and he wouldn't hurt you, I just... I don't know.” Unclenching his fists slowly, he looks back up to Matt, eyes pleading. “I just miss you both, and I'm afraid of being left behind I guess.”

Matt feels his heart grow three sizes at that and he can't help stepping forward to hug Shiro, even if his face does get squished into firm pecs and his knee knocks against the toilet bowl. “Shiro, we wouldn't even be friends without you.” He rubs Shiro's back until he feels his shoulders loosen. “We love you, you know that right?”

Shiro nods into his shoulder. “Yeah, even if it's not the same way as you love each other.” His voice is only a little morose, but Matt really can't handle this delusional shit.

“You mean fuck each other.” Shiro stiffens again and Matt rolls his eyes, pulling back to hold Shiro at arms length. “Because that's what we're doing. Just fucking.” Shiro darts a look at his boots and Matt knocks the bottom of his chin with a scowl. “Look at me asshole!” Shiro nods at him, staring blankly. “Say it back to me.”

He winces, nose wrinkling up like a pug as he mumbles something unintelligible.

“I didn't hear you, Shiro... Just. Fucking.”

Pulling a grimace, Shiro whispers it back to him. Matt rolls his eyes again and gives him a pat on the shoulder.

“Good boy. Now, just so you don't forget – Brojobs, mutual masturbation, no-romo, fuck buddies.” Shiro appears to be trying to astral project out of the dirty bathroom stall and Matt nods, satisfied that he gets the point. “I'll write you a sticky note to put on the wall if you need a reminder.” He shakes his head, a haunted look in his eyes as he stares at a point over Matt's shoulder. “Okay, good. Now let's pretend this never happened and-”

The main door swings open and boots clomp inside, the chatter of cadets fresh out of a sim run with bladders abused by artificial g-force cutting off his escape. The stalls around them fill up quickly and Matt can see a line through the crack in the stall door.

“Fuck.” He grumbles lowly, angling himself out of view from the crack and trying to smoosh to the wall. Shiro just sighs, long and drawn out, resigned to whatever else happens. Matt is mildly offended at his whipped-dog expression, they wouldn't even be here without his attempts at interrogation and murder.

One of the braver cadets knocks on the stall door after a few minutes spent listening to the dulcet tones of the chili-day aftermath lining up with flight practice. Matt presses himself farther against the back wall, shooting a glare at Shiro as he continues to stare dully at the wall.

“Little busy.” He grunts, kicking Shiro in the ankle.

“Come on man,” The voice whines and feet shuffle back and forth outside the stall. “I've gotta piss and the other ones are destroyed, hurry up.”

Matt shoots Shiro an accusatory look, only to find him tracing the graffiti from earlier with a sour face. He smiles at him sheepishly, holding up his hands in a 'what can you do?' fashion, grateful that the incriminating sharpie is tucked away in his backpack.

“We're busy, cadet.” Shiro barks out in his officer voice without thinking about it, causing Matt to slap a hand to his face with a groan.

“Uhhh...” The kid's feet disappear from the gap under the door and they can hear him scrambling into a different stall. “Yes sir, sorry sir...sirs? Sorry sirs.”

Matt sighs and drags a hand down his face, ducking his head down to check for other shoes before yanking Shiro out of the stall and into the fresh air of the hallway outside. Shiro shrugs him off after a few steps and brushes off his uniform, still looking at Matt sidelong.

“ _We?_ ” Matt hisses at him, slapping the back of his hand to Shiro's chest. “WE aren't supposed to be in a single stall, genius.”

“Whatever.” Shiro grumbles, apologetic countenance forgotten entirely now that they've escaped their smelly confessional. “You're already fucking Keith, what's another rumor to you?”

His tone is bitter enough that Matt throws him a sharp look and plants a finger squarely in his chest.

“Now you listen, and you listen good, Shirogane.” He hisses, backing Shiro down the hallway as he stalks toward him. “What we do as consenting horny friends is none of anyone's goddamn business and you have exactly zero room to judge.” Shiro opens his mouth to protest before another jab to the sternum cuts him off. “You can suck my asshole with that high horse bullshit. If I catch you making Keith feel bad for wanting to do whatever he wants I will hire someone much bigger than me to kick your ass.”

Shiro looks like he's sucked a lemon and he raises his hands in defeat.

“Fine, I'm sorry.” Matt arches an eyebrow at him and Shiro scowls. “Again.”

Matt pats him on the shoulder. “It's okay, just cut that shit out.” He wraps an arm around Shiro's waist and leads him down the hallway with a sly look. “I know that it's just your repressed emotional baggage and jealousy leaking out in bitter word vomit because Keith is better than your boyfriend in every way and you don't get to have him.”

Shiro freezes, looking down at Matt in shocked horror. “That's ridiculous! I swear it's not-” He shakes his head in a blur and scrambles a few steps backward down the hall. “I have a... go.” He jerks his thumb in the opposite direction of his room and whirls on his heel, practically jogging down the hall.

Matt squints down the hallway at his retreating form, a wicked grin spreading over his face.

“Huh. Interesting.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

It's a testament to how freakishly normal the whole thing is between them that Matt doesn't even bat an eye at coming home to Keith in his boxers, eating a bowl of cheetos that he has managed to balance on his stomach. It wobbles precariously as he snickers at something on the tablet he's holding over his face, threatening to spill orange dust all over Matt's probably not clean sheets.

At this point it's second nature for Matt to dump his bag on the floor and climb in next to him, shoving hard on his shoulder to make him budge over and swiping his pillow back – if the fucker is going to invade his bed with messy snacks then he can do it without back support. As usual, Keith grumbles and throws an elbow into Matt's ribs before tilting the screen and offering an earbud. Then they whittle away the evening eating snacks off each other and giggling like children at stupid videos.

Of course, it does usually end up with them tangled in the sheets together, bodies covered with a sheen of sweat and crumbs – but that's just part of the deal at this point. They joke, they laze, they snack, they fuck. It's such a perfect symbiotic relationship they deserve to be put on a high school biology poster.

Sometimes Matt will message Shiro and ask him to join them in the joking, lazing, and snacks, but he usually finds some reason not to enter the room and offers his outside alternatives instead. Lately the guy has been hammering on the importance of physical fitness and hounding Keith to come to the gym and spar to keep in 'peak physical condition' for the rigors of his fitness testing. It's an almost insultingly transparent excuse to get his hands all over those lithe muscles in a context that he can pretend is totally above board... but everyone except Keith knows that Shiro's holding a little too long, pushing the leg back a little farther than it needs to go, pinning his wrists a little too eagerly. It takes every ounce of self control in Matt's body not to roll his eyes out of his skull when Shiro pulls Keith up off the mat, eyes glued to where his shirt clings to his sweat-soaked abs.

“You did really well today, Keith.” Shiro claps his hand on a slim shoulder and gives him a look that's a little too soft for a mentor. “I can tell you've been working on your flexibility.”

Matt snorts so loudly into his notebook from where he sits off to the side that Keith shoots him a sheepish grin, cheeks darkening.

“Yeah, uh... I guess you could say that.” He rubs the back of his neck and rolls his shoulders into the touch, smiling back up at Shiro. “I've got a good trainer though.”

Matt knows that Keith is talking about Shiro, since having the occasional opportunity to push a guy's feet up to his ears doth not a trainer make. He also knows that Keith has a crush like a neon sign and a soft spot a mile wide... but Shiro is both willfully ignorant and hilariously jealous, so he feels no inclination toward cluing him in as he directs a shit eating grin that way.

“That's-” Shiro wheezes, smile suddenly strained beyond what Matt would have thought was possible for a human face. “Great, just great. I'm glad.” He pats Keith's shoulder once before whirling and stalking across the mat to grab his towel. “I'm gonna hit the showers.”

Keith stares after him, utterly bewildered. He turns to Matt and cocks his head, thumb jerked at Shiro's retreating form. “Is he okay?”

Matt resists the urge to shove his whole fist into his mouth and scream.

“Oh he's fine.” Matt assures him, packing up his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. “Just not good at taking compliments.”

Keith shrugs back at him and pulls his shirt up to wipe his face off, exposing several sweaty abs. It's objectively disgusting that he just wiped his face sweat with his gut sweat, but Matt really can't complain when he's licked the guy's asshole. Plus, he's pretty certain the fresh cadet on the treadmill that's been watching them spar just fell off at the sight.

“So, wanna wash your balls and grab a snack?”

Keith snorts beneath his shirt and finishes using it to towel off his hair before giving up and peeling it off entirely. He grins crookedly at Matt and gestures to himself with a flourish, sweat still collecting in his happy trail as it leads down into his spandex leggings.

“What, you don't want a taste of this au naturel?”

“Pfft.” Matt makes a show of pinching his nose shut and glancing disdainfully at the bulge. “I've sniffed enough of your taint this week, thanks.”

The cadet definitely fell off the treadmill that time, not even bothering to get back up from the end of where it still runs.

“I suppose I can shower first then.” Keith shrugs and balls up the shirt, tossing it at Matt who flails at it with a dignified squawk. “Want me to ask Shiro?”

Matt glares at the shirt on the floor as he pokes at it with his toe. “Sounds good to me.” He kicks it over to Keith with a grimace then gives him a sly look. “If you can keep your hands off of my raw animal magnetism for a few hours.”

The snort Keith lets out as he walks to the shower is almost insulting.

 

Keith strolls into the locker room with a grin on his face, and a spring in his step. This arrangement with Matt has done wonders for his mood for sure. He had been concerned at the beginning that it was going to be awkward, or that it might make hanging out like normal a little strained, but the overwhelming need to blow his load had overridden those concerns and Matt's utter lack of shits to give had taken care of the rest. Really, he's not sure how he got so lucky after being dealt such a shit hand in life, to have two of the best friends he could ask for. The only downside to the entire thing is Shiro being left out, but at least he has someone to hang out with when he and Matt are occupied.

Besides, Keith has years of fuckery to catch up on after being relegated to the occasional hushed and dry hand job in the bunk of the orphanage – and Matt since didn't even call him gay and try to beat him up the next day, the lube is just an added bonus.

It's been such a great few weeks that other cadets have even noticed the change in his attitude, not giving him as wide a berth in the hallways or looking at him like he's a bomb about to go off. It probably helps that he's been whistling cheerily everywhere he goes and smiling at strangers, but who can blame him? He's getting his dick sucked by his best friend and gets video games and snacks out of the deal. This is practically all his fantasies of friendship rolled into a sexy bundle.

He's still humming as he throws the shirt into his locker and peels off the leggings, finally freeing his crushed dick. One of the first lessons he had learned early on was that training with Shiro meant awkward erections, and he had requested the best compression gear the Garrison would issue – even if it was meant for the female cadets. The extra thick waistband that was apparently meant to suck in stomachs was perfect for crushing the life out of his cock every time he even thought about Shiro in his muscled glory – which happens more often than he cares to admit when he's being twisted like a pretzel with his face in the mat. Honestly though, he can't be blamed for that either – half the gym stops what they're doing when Shiro walks in with a casual dick print just hanging out there in his sweatpants. He'd have to be blind and half dead not to get a rise out of that, it would be like walking into the MET and not admiring the artwork – some things are just meant to be beheld.

Keith rounds the corner into the communal showers, and behold...

Shiro is bent over, rubbing out a knot in his calf muscle with his weight shifted off the leg, popping his ass out and putting just a delicious shadow of the main course on display. Keith stumbles and knocks his shoulder against the wall, grunting a curse. The living sculpture of David whips his head up at the sound and his face morphs into a smile at the sight of Keith sheepishly rubbing the bruising spot.

“Finally decided to join the ranks of the hygienic?” He snags his bottle of body wash and squirts it onto his washcloth before chucking it at Keith's head, but Keith's determined stare at the ground leaves him open and it hits him in the face with a wet slap.

“Augh!” He flails and rears back, stumbling into the tile next to Shiro and sputtering through the soapy cloth. “What the fuck!” He whips it off his face and spits out soap, squinting one eye as he glares at Shiro and turns on the tap. “I don't smell that bad!”

Shiro hums at him and shrugs playfully.

“Debatable.” He turns back to the wall and scrubs at his hair, smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “I nearly passed out from the stench when you had me in a headlock.”

“Pfft.” Keith scrubs down his chest with the cloth and pauses to strike a flexing pose. “Just admit I'm getting too strong for you.”

There's soap streaming down his pecs and through his abs. He's certainly not a bulky type of muscular like Shiro is, but he's all lean mass and whipcord strength, power coiled tight in his frame. It makes Shiro's mouth run dry and he has to force himself not to follow that trail down any farther. He can feel his cheeks heating and promptly turns his face directly into the spray as he turns the water to cold.

“Sure, He-man, whatever makes you feel better.”

Keith drops the pose and squawks indignantly, pouting as he drags the washcloth over the rest of him. He gets to his bicep and pokes at it. “Matt thinks I'm strong...” Shiro promptly inhales the stream of frigid water and tries to drown himself. “Shit dude, are you okay?” Keith steps over to thump Shiro on the back where he's doubled over, putting his crotch conveniently at eye level to be the last thing a dying man sees.

And Shiro can't even say he'd be mad if something like that was what sent him to heaven, but he's got a boyfriend, and Keith is... Keith, so he shoves that thought down and straightens up to give him a wobbly grin and a thumbs up.

“I'm fine, just went down the wrong pipe.”

Keith wrinkles his nose and eyeballs the shower head. “I don't think you're supposed to drink out of these.” He looks back to Shiro, mouth twisted in concern. “There's like lead and shit in the pipes.”

Shiro just stares at him and shakes his head as he gives a final chilly rinse and turns his tap off. “You're right, Keith. I'll keep that in mind...”

Keith nods at him, satisfied as he finishes scrubbing down as well, paying special attention to his balls when Shiro's back is turned. It wouldn't do to prove Matt right and get himself dragged to the ends of the earth. The cloth gets wrung out after and he wads it up and whips it at Shiro's retreating back where it hits him with a thud and splats to the floor.

“Hey, Old Timer.” His grin is cheeky as Shiro turns to give him a flat look, scooping the washcloth off the tile. “Wanna come grab snacks with me and Matt after this?” A flash of uncertainty crosses Shiro's face and he doubles down, turning off his own tap and putting on his best puppy dog eyes. “I feel like we haven't hung out all together in so long... I miss you.”

Shiro's face softens and Keith knows he has him hook, line, and sinker.

“I guess I can spare a few hours.” Shiro smiles down at the cloth before flicking his gaze up to meet Keith's. “Especially if it's for my two favorite people.”

“Aww, Shiro.” Keith strides over to him, still dripping and unconcerned with his nudity. “Bring it in for a hug.” He wraps his arms around Shiro's stiff body, smooshing his face into squeaky clean pecs and slapping him on the back. “I knew you loved us more than what's his face.”

The tension uncoils out of his shoulders as Shiro snorts into Keith's wet mop of hair and returns the hug, pointedly not thinking about what's brushing his leg.

“I must if I deal with you two mooning over each other now.”

Keith shoves him back with a laugh and punches him on the shoulder as he walks over to his locker.

“We don't moon, asshole.” He grabs his own clean pair of sweats and shimmies them on, not bothering with boxers underneath. “We casually eyefuck, there's a difference.” He pulls a clean tank over his head and throw his gym bag over his shoulder, shooting Shiro a two fingered salute as he heads to the door. “Meet you in ten at Matt's room.”

Watching Keith walk away, Shiro can't say he appreciates the subtle distinction.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Hanging out with the two of them is both more and less awkward than Shiro expected. He hadn't really realized just how much he had missed them until the little knot loosened in his chest as the three of them jostled each other down the hallways and into the mess hall. It hadn't even really been that long, technically they were hanging out at the gym, but deep down he knows that Matt is fully aware of his petty need to find something Keith loves to do, just the two of them.

It feels a little slimy – not quite as slimy as the squirming feeling when he thinks about the sharp grins they throw each other without thinking about it, but close. Especially when he thinks about how he already has someone to come home to and can't rationalize being jealous over a thing he shouldn't want.

Except he does want, if he's going to be honest with himself – which he isn't, for his own sanity – but if he was he might admit that there was something about the younger cadet that makes him want to brush back his bangs and stamp 'Property of Shiro' on his forehead, just so no one else can have him... but that's not fair, and it's not right. It's just hard, he's never felt jealousy like this over something that isn't his.

So he pushes it down and compartmentalizes it neatly into the box that he keeps between 'Dying Not-So-Slowly' and 'Settled for Mediocre Relationship'. Friendship is what he offered years ago when Keith was a scrappy car thief, and he has zero intention of letting his own weird possessiveness ruin that. Especially since by the time Keith is in his prime Shiro will probably be starting to wither, bracelets or not, and who knows what zero gravity will do to him long term. Trying to lay claim to someone who burns as brightly as Keith will only limit his possibilities and tie him to Earth when he's clearly meant to be among the stars.

At least maintaining where they stand now is no hardship. Shiro is grateful that he has such good friends, that Matt hasn't publicly denounced him for being a hypocrite and poisoned the well of their friendship. It makes him even more determined to crush down the stupid lizard brain that insists on commenting on the fit of Keith's uniform trousers.

After all, that's apparently Matt's job now, and he's doing it well as they grab lumpy mashed potatoes and mac and cheese in line. Keith leans forward to grab a container of juice and Matt whistles through his teeth, his grin bright and teasing and Keith snorts, throwing him a look over his shoulder as he straightens up.

“Can it, Holt.”

Matt snickers and grabs his own container, shrugging back at him.

“Just admiring the view.” Keith grumbles at that and Matt turns his shit eating grin to Shiro, and Shiro knows that he won't like what's coming. “Wouldn't you agree Shiro?”

He clears his throat, pointedly ignoring the heat in his ears as he grabs his own carton. “Keith always looks sharp in his uniform.” He fixes Matt with an unimpressed look before flicking a glance to Keith with a teasing grin. “When he can keep it within regs at least.”

Keith's face heats and he wrinkles his nose at them, still muttering under his breath as he grabs a bread roll and stalks off to a table. Matt watches him go, still snickering with that stupid fond look on his face.

“Poor kid doesn't even realize.”

Shiro's brow furrows as he snags a roll for himself.

“Realize what?”

Matt throws him a flat look and walks away, not dignifying Shiro's stupid question with a response. Shiro sighs and trails after him, plunking his tray down. He supposes he might deserve that one.

Keith is already ripping into his food with gusto and Shiro appreciates the normalcy of the conversation they dip into, all engine specs and the latest sim runs. It's easy to pick up where the three of them faltered a little more than a month back, easing loose the wedge that Shiro hadn't meant to put between them. The worried furrow in Keith's brow smooths as he chatters animatedly with a mouth full of noodles, gesticulating wildly with his fork. Matt is half listening as he types away on his ever present data pad, interjecting occasionally and snickering at Keith's impressions of his fellow cadets.

“-and then Griffin comes over with a stick up his ass and his stupid face all... stupid.” He rolls his eyes and jams his fork into the potatoes, scooping more into his mouth and continuing without bothering to chew. “And he's all 'You can't pull an immelmann turn in the sims, it's not in the designated flight path' cause he's a little bitch-” He swallows the mouthful and rips a hunk of bread off, dipping it in his cheese goo and shoving a worrisome amount in his mouth. The next sentence comes out completely unintelligible but Shiro nods anyway, transfixed by Keith's ability to put away garbage like a feral raccoon. He finally swallows around the lump and finishes. “-and it was awesome, but the navigator barfed so we got docked for that one.” He rolls his eyes and shovels another bite of mac and cheese into his face with a shrug.

Matt snorts from across the table and flicks a look up to him. “Well no shit, you fly like a drunken carnival ride.” Shiro has to suppress his smile as Keith squawks indignantly. Matt pays him no heed and goes back to his data pad. “I'm just saying, you should expect the same amount of vomit.”

“Tell him, Shiro!” Keith looks to him for backup, trusting a fellow pilot to understand, and Shiro has always been weak for that disgruntled pout. “It's totally legitimate maneuver.”

He takes a measured sip of his juice, trying to look appropriately pensive as Keith jabs a finger in Matt's direction. “Well...” Keith narrows his eyes at the tone and Matt doesn't even bother to look up, smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “It's pretty useful to know in case of a dogfight.”

“HA!” Keith punches his fist in the air and pulls a face at Matt.

“But-” Shiro continues over him with a smile creeping across his face. “You're probably not going to need it to go get ice chunks from a moon somewhere out by the Kuiper belt.”

Keith barely deflates, sniffing dismissively as he waves a hand in Shiro's direction. “You'll know better when I'm the first pilot to take down an alien vessel.”

Matt lets out a bark of laughter at that one, setting the pad down and grinning sarcastically at him.

“With your unarmed lunar lander?” He stretches his arms above his head and finally takes a bite of his now cold potatoes, grimacing as they glom up in his mouth. “If you plan to ram them make sure I'm not on your mission.”

“Nah.” Keith looks genuinely thoughtful and Shiro has to smother his grin with a hand. “I'd probably lead them through an asteroid field or something... slingshot them into a grav well... I don't know.”

Shiro nods at him sagely, knuckles still pressed to his mouth. “Someday Keith, you'll save us all from alien invasion.”

Keith looks a little sheepish at that, slouching down and picking his fork back up. He shoots a pink cheeked look at Shiro. “I guess I better pass Montgomery's midterm first, right?”

Shiro can't help but reach over and ruffle his hair, ignoring the hand that swats at him like a grouchy cat.

“Right, first the library, then the universe.”

The attempt at grumpiness doesn't last long before Keith is smiling at him, nose wrinkled and hair a mess – and in that moment Shiro knows that this firecracker cadet has already claimed a chunk of his universe whether he knows it or not. Matt gives them both a fond look and Shiro can feel his own stupid sappy expression, but can't be bothered to try to fix it when he finally feels like he has his friends back.

“Hey, do you guys want to take the hoverbikes out after this?” His mouth speaks without his consent, trying to prolong the best day he's had in a while. Keith's eyes light up and he whips his head over to Matt who barks out a laugh and starts packing up his things.

“And get road rash from my inevitable wreck?” He shoulders his bag and pushes back from the table, throwing them a salute. “No thanks, you two go on without me.” He pauses to wink at Shiro before giving Keith a snarky look. “Maybe I'll actually get something done without being mauled.”

“Hey!” Keith sputters, indignant as he packs up his own bag. “You're the one who ripped my-”

“Great!” Shiro interjects with a slightly manic grin. “Have fun Matt, I'll keep Keith here safe.”

Keith crosses his arms petulantly and gives him a flat look.

“You're the one who jumps off cliffs.”

Shiro cheerfully ignores him as he gives Matt a wave and gets to his feet. “C'mon buddy, last one to the hanger has fuel them up.” He grips his bag tightly and leaves a sputtering Keith in his wake as he sprints down the hallway.

* * *

 

It's nearing sunset when they reach their usual spot by the cliff, the desert chill just starting to seep in through their jackets. Keith tries valiantly not to shiver, but the exhilarated smile he throws Shiro's way when he hops off the bike is chattering. Shiro laughs and tugs him into his side, plopping down against the outcropping of rock for a makeshift windbreak.

“I forget you're still so skinny.” He teases, throwing an arm around Keith's shoulder so he can burrow into the warmth. “One of these days a good gust is going to blow you right off the cliff.”

“M'not skinny.” Keith grumbles, tucking his freezing nose into Shiro's armpit. “I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet.”

Shiro hums and pats his arm, squeezing Keith in tighter until the trembling eases. The sun is just starting to splash the sky in reds and golds, gleaming off the desert sands and the man next to him. A part of Shiro wishes he could freeze time right here, Keith tucked safely under his arm, and their futures laid out before them.

The jolt in his wrist is a sharp reminder why he can't. His hand spasms and he must tense up because Keith looks up at him in concern.

“You okay?”

Shiro smiles sadly out into the empty desert and rotates his wrist before nodding. “Yeah, Keith. I'm fine.” He blows out a breath and leans a little more into Keith's side. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” Keith looks up at him earnestly, and Shiro feels a blossom of gratitude for his friend that genuinely cares, no matter how silly it might be.

“I put in for the next deep space mission.” It might not be the truth, but Shiro thinks it's close enough for now – and Keith should know sooner or later if he gets picked. “The one out toward Pluto.”

“No shit?” Keith perks up, pulling his nose out of its warm spot to beam at Shiro. “That's awesome!”

Shiro chuckles and shrugs his shoulder, squeezing Keith's arm.

“Well, I might not get it. There are plenty of good pilots in the running.”

“Yeah okay.” Keith gives him a look like he's the world's biggest idiot. “But there's only one Takashi Shirogane, holder of every record in the Garrison.”

“Every record but three.” Shiro reminds him with a nudge. Keith has been slowly overtaking him in the early sim runs, and Shiro wouldn't be surprised if he shatters all of them by the time he graduates. “Some young hotshot is making me look bad.”

“As if I could ever.” Keith rolls his eyes. “People actually like you, I can just fly.”

“Hey now.” Shiro nudges him again with a frown. “Maybe if you tried to make friends they'd like you too... Matt likes you just fine.”

Keith barks a laugh into the night air. “Matt's a special case, we only met because of you.” He shoots Shiro a sheepish look and drags a hand through his hair. “Plus, Matt gets a little more than the usual friendly treatment.”

Shiro can't help the way he tenses at the reminder, or the tick in his jaw. Keith doesn't miss it, and deflates, pulling away a little.

“It doesn't... you don't think it's weird do you?” Keith's voice is small and he stares at his boots in the red dirt. The sun splashes his face in purples now and Shiro feels like he's been punched in the gut. “I saw this stupid note on the bathroom wall and...”

“It's not weird.” Shiro cuts him off vehemently. “You are not weird.” Keith looks up at him, expression open and vulnerable, and Shiro wants to maim everyone who's ever said an unkind word about him. “You're a man with needs, and you can choose to handle that however you want.”

Keith's face twists uncertainly and his eyes flit back to the sand. “I thought you were mad at us.”

Apparently Shiro needs to maim himself. He sucks in a breath and tugs Keith back in closer. “I was concerned at first, because I didn't want either of you getting hurt.” Keith opens his mouth to respond but Shiro shakes his head. “I know, you two would never hurt each other.” He smiles down at him before looking back out at the sunset and swallowing hard. “Then I guess I was a little jealous that you two were hanging out so much... like I had been left behind.”

“Shiro, no.” Keith cuts him off this time, throwing both arms around his torso and squeezing. “I could never replace you with Matt, you're both my best friends.”

Shiro dips his nose into Keith's hair and hugs him back. “I know, buddy.” His exhale ruffles the messy black locks and the goggles tangled in them dig into his forehead, but there's nowhere he'd rather be. “I was just jealous, but we're all good now.”

Keith pulls back to look him in the eyes, searching his face for any hint of a lie. “You promise you'll tell me if I do something so I can fix it?” His expression is so open and heartfelt that Shiro feels like his chest is caving in.

“Yeah, bud, I'll tell you everything. No secrets between us.”

The sun dips fully below the horizon in one last splash of color against Keith's relieved face and Shiro feels like he's been carved open and scooped out. The blinking of his bracelet in the dark reminds him that he's a liar that doesn't deserve this kind of devotion from the man tucked under his arm. He gives Keith's shoulder one last squeeze before hauling himself up and dusting off, offering a hand up to Keith as well.

“We should head back if we want to sneak you back in before lights out.” He claps a hand against Keith's back and sends him stumbling toward the bike. “I don't think Iverson would take too kindly to another night out.”

Keith throws him a grin over his shoulder and vaults onto the hoverbike. “I don't think anyone will give me too much grief with the Golden Boy by my side.” He pulls the goggles down and revs the engine, grin sharpening. “Race you back!”

Then he peels out in a cloud of dust and Shiro is left where he thinks he'll be the rest of his life, chasing after a shooting star.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Matt is three fingers deep in a flushed and panting body when his data pad chirps on the desk across the room. He grins wickedly and plasters himself to Keith's back, hooking his chin over a sweaty shoulder and licking the side of his sharp jaw.

“I should probably get that right? He twists his fingers and hooks them upward, snickering when Keith bites a whimper in half. “It might be important.”

Keith's hand snaps back and clamps down hard on his wrist, then one of his ankles snakes around the back of Matt's knee, effectively trapping him there. He turns his face away from the pillow enough to growl, and it's surprisingly intimidating despite the fact that he's laying a puddle of his own drool.

“You fucker, I swear to god if you stop right now I'll-” Matt jerks his hand again, rubbing hard against his prostate, and Keith chokes on a long moan.

“You'll what, Sweetcheeks?” He bites hard on Keith's shoulder and draws his fingers out to just the tips, holding Keith open and rubbing a thumb on his rim. “Give me a spanking later?” Four fingers push back in, stroking at the fluttering walls around them. “Cry all over my pillow?”

Keith hiccups a noise like something a very angry kitten might make as he lets go of Matt's wrist and tries to squirm forward. Matt drops his whole weight onto Keith's back in retaliation, planting his free hand next to his head and rutting against his balls from behind. The friction against his ignored cock has him groaning into the back of Keith's neck and he bites down again, higher than he knows the uniform will cover. He feels Keith's walls start to clamp down from the dual sensations and yanks his fingers out, reaching around to squeeze Keith's thick base, earning a sobbed yelp.

“Bastard!” Keith wheezes, trembling underneath him. “I was so close.”

“I know.” Matt relaxes his death grip on Keith's cock and gives him a feather-light stroke just to feel him shudder. It's almost intoxicating, having even a little bit of power like this over the stick of dynamite underneath him. Keith could break him in half if he really wanted to, but here he is, panting open mouthed into Matt's sheets. Matt smirks down at Keith's weak glare and rubs a hand down his flank. “But you turn into a sloth when you cum, and I'm not done with you yet.”

Dark eyes glint underneath him and Keith's slack expression turns feral for the half second of warning Matt gets before he's staring up at the ceiling, breath punched from his lungs. Keith straddles his hips and slams a forearm down across his chest, reaching behind himself to grab Matt's cock. “Maybe I'm done with your bullshit, Holt.” His grin is razor sharp as he slides the tip across his hole, catching the rim on each pass. “Maybe I'll just use you like the filthy tease you are, cover you in my cum, and leave you hard and aching.”

Matt throws his head back with a gasp, heat flaring through him at the gravel in Keith's tone. Riling Keith up takes more effort than it used to, but the flash of sharp canines and the wild look in his eyes is well worth the bruises that he'll have tomorrow. Matt strains against the arm across his chest, trying to roll his hips up and sink inside, but Keith doesn't even have to try to keep him still. He leans down and bites Matt's bottom lip, pulling it away and letting it go with a snap. It stings and Matt licks at it, a coppery tang blooming on his tongue.

“Rude.” He breathes into Keith's mouth, little more than a ghost of a word. Keith smirks back and runs his tongue along it, lapping up the bead of blood. His face is insufferably smug - the cat that got the canary as he shifts his hips back and settles right over Matt's weeping cock. All it takes is the flash of his eyebrows with that challenging smirk and Matt knows exactly what's coming. “Wait, wait! There's not enough-”

Keith slams his hips down, hissing at the burn as he impales himself to the base. Matt makes a strangled gurgle and seizes up, feet scrabbling in the sheets and hands flying to Keith's hips as his eyes roll back in his head. He's pretty sure that he's going to explode right the fuck now if Keith so much as sneezes, but the demon in question is panting open mouthed, making punched out noises with each breath as he sits still for once.

“Lube...” Matt grunts, rolling his hips once just to hear Keith hiss. “There wasn't enough fucking lube, you moron.”

“Fuck you.” The weak retort spills from Keith's mouth automatically as he shifts and clenches experimentally around Matt's cock. “You take too long.”

The little motions force another groan from Matt's chest and his fingers flex on Keith's hips. “Whatever.” He rubs his fingers around where Keith's hole is swallowing him, soothing the twitching muscle as best he can. “Don't bitch at me when you're walking funny later.”

Keith slowly lifts up on shaking thighs before easing back down with a sigh. His dark hair is a riotous mess as he tosses his head back and gives Matt a weak grin.

“You'd like that wouldn't you?”  
“Can't- _ah!_ ” Keith clenches hard as he slides down this time, knocking the breath from Matt's chest yet again. He clears his throat as Keith bottoms out and holds him there for a moment, content to roll up into him in a slow grind. “Can't say I'd mind seeing it.”

That earns him a snort and a real smile as the arm that had been restraining him lifts to smack him across the chest. “You're a fucking loser.”

Matt sticks his tongue out and bucks upward, preening at the way Keith's eyes flutter shut.

“Well you're fucking a loser, so who's really getting the better deal here?”

Keith barks a laugh and picks up the pace, rollings his hips steadily as his own cock bobs an angry red, balls smacking against Matt's thatch of hair with each bounce.

“I hate you so fucking much, Holt.” He smiles down at him, eyes crinkling as they meet each other in a familiar rhythm.

Matt contemplates leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head - letting Keith do all the work just to be a dick, but he knows he'd never hear the end of it. Instead, he plants his feet and meets each bounce in earnest, guiding Keith down with a hand on his back until little grunts turn into obscene moans. “There it is...” He digs his fingers in harder and wills what little muscle he has not to give out as he makes Keith sing. “That doesn't sound like hate, buddy.”

Keith's forehead wrinkles like he wants to retort, but doesn't have to capacity to do anything but cry out under the assault to his prostate. He's so close, the friction just on the right side of too much and he can feel the bubbling heat behind his navel. His entire world narrows down to the frantic need to cum, to splash across Matt's chest and hold him by the throat as he chases his own release. But Matt's only a man, and a skinny one at that. His thrusts slow down and Keith let's out a growl, eyes flashing in the light.

“Don't you fucking dare stop.”

He grabs Matt's hands off his hips and slams them onto the pillow above his head, pinning them with one hand while the other presses against his throat. Matt's eyes blow wide and he can't do much but squeak as Keith takes the opportunity to ride him into the mattress. He sets a furious pace, engulfing Matt's cock in dizzying heat and pressure as he slides against him and clenches, twists, rolls their hips together... the lack of oxygen makes his head grow fuzzy and bright and his entire world narrows down to the inferno sinking down onto him. Keith leans down, letting the pressure off his throat and Matt sucks in a gasping breath just in time to have it stolen again by the mouth crushing against his. He can feel Keith's hand between them now, tugging over himself in frantic movements. His head spins as Keith licks into his mouth and sucks on his tongue, pulling back to nip on his lip enough to draw another bead of blood, and Matt is helpless under the assault. He's not going to last.

“Keith I'm- _fuck!_ ”

Teeth sink into his shoulder as Matt shudders through his orgasm, pulsing inside Keith. He's dimly aware of the splash heat across his own torso, spattering across his neck and chest, but he can't be bothered to care when his entire body is floating.

Then a sweaty disgusting boy crashes down onto him in a breathless heap, knocking the air from his lungs entirely. They're both still twitching where they're joined, and his first experimental slide outward draws a disgruntled groan from the dead weight on top of him.

“I told you it would hurt later.” He grumbles into Keith's hair, spitting strands out of his mouth as he rubs a hand down a sweaty lower back. “It was a tight fit with fingers.”

“Your face is a tight fit with fingers...” Keith mutters into his shoulder, wiggling up just enough for Matt to slide out. He doesn't bother to hold back the grimace at the feeling of cum leaking out of him, but also doesn't bother to move as it trickles out and onto Matt's thighs beneath him. “It's fine, it's not like I was topping.”

Matt shudders, partly from the objectively disgusting mess they're stewing in, and partly at the thought of trying to take Keith's massive cock in one go like that. He'd probably end up in the hospital with a misplaced kidney or a ruptured spleen for his troubles.

“Well, we can't all be smuggling weapons of ass destruction...” He rolls to the side, dumping Keith off him, and staggers to the desk to snag some baby wipes. A few get tossed at Keith's body, starfished out across his bed before he wipes himself from knee to chin. The wipe comes away dripping. “Holy fuck, how did you even blow this much?”

Keith gropes around blindly until his hand finds the wipes and he drags it lazily across his ass. He cracks one eye open in Matt's direction and balls up the wipe, tossing it at his face.

“You're the one who ruined the first one.”

Matt can't argue with that one, so he shrugs and grabs his pad, swiping it open to check the ignored message.

His drops it with a clatter immediately.

“Holy fuck.”

Keith lifts his head at Matt's exclamation, raising one eyebrow in question. Matt picks the pad back up with shaking hands and brings it over to him. Keith takes it and squints at the too-bright screen, reading aloud for dramatic effect.

“Mr. Holt, we are pleased to inform you of your selection to the crew of the upcoming Kerberos mission along with Captain Samuel Holt and Pilot Takashi Shirogane – _Holy Fuck!_ ” He stares up at Matt, smile blinding as he tosses the data pad aside and tackles Matt. “You assholes made it!”

Matt is still shell shocked in his arms, staring at the pad with an open mouth. He had applied on a whim, thinking he was automatically out of the running on the grounds of avoiding accusations of nepotism. He never expected to actually get this far – let alone with one of his best friends and his dad.

“I... what?”

Keith ruffles his hair and grabs the pad again, shoving it in his face and pointing at his name.

“That's you! The best supreme nerd in the Garrison!” Matt just blinks at him and Keith turns his attention back to the screen. “Do you think Shiro knows yet?” He sighs and smiles wistfully at the message. “You assholes are so lucky.”

His tone shakes something loose in Matt's internal shutdown and he turns to Keith to clap him in a hug in return.

“Next mission it's going to be all three of us up there.” His voice is probably a little too vehement for the situation and Keith pulls back to look at him.

“I know, man.” He squeezes Matt's shoulders with a cocky grin. “Shiro can be my co-pilot.”

Matt has to swallow down the lump at that, wondering just how true it might be... but worries like that won't get them anywhere. He shakes his head at Keith, tugging him off the bed with a laugh.

“C'mon, you're disgusting, lets get cleaned up and get Shiro.”

Keith nods and trots over to the dresser like it's second nature to rummage through Matt's clothes by now. He pulls out Matt's favorite shorts and steals his shower shoes before turning to shuffle out the door.

“Tell him we'll be over in fifteen, we've got a lot of celebrating to do before everyone else steals away my newly famous best friends.”

His laugh echoes as the door slides shut behind him, but the words leave Matt with the strangest combination of elation and dread.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

For the first ten minutes after getting the message, Shiro had stared at his data pad in shocked disbelief. Everything he had worked for, every push-up, everything flight simulation, every class on advanced aeromechanics lead to this moment, this one little sentence that clinched his dreams.

Then he cried.

He holed himself up on the couch and wept, clutching the tablet that provided the validation he'd been chasing all his life. Maybe it wasn't healthy to have pinned so much of himself on this chance – and he had certainly downplayed his chances whenever it was brought up – but something loosened in his chest at the words.

_Mr. Shirogane, we are pleased to inform you of your selection to the crew of the upcoming Kerberos mission._

It had been his best chance, and maybe his last, to go farther than anyone had before. He hadn't even dared to hope that Matt and Sam would be his crew members should he make it this far. The entire thing felt like a fever dream that he desperately didn't want to wake up from, so he read the letter again.

And again.

Each time it felt a little more real, and the last sentence at the bottom of the paper a little more like a personal challenge.

_Final flight crew roster subject to candidate health at time of mission launch, roster may be changed at the discretion of the admiralty to avoid unnecessary risk._

Somehow he doubted that Matt's letter included the caveat, and it stoked the burning coals of petty stubbornness that Shiro usually tried to keep tamped down. If they wanted a healthy candidate they'd get one. He would go to the training room every day if he had to, he'd upgrade his bracelet's battery life and voltage, he'd tap dance in front of the entire Garrison if he had to.

He was going on this mission, hell or high water, even if it killed him.

Thankfully, he had the support of Matt and Sam every step of the way. Sam fought tirelessly to get the caveat removed from Shiro's appointment to the crew, refusing to entrust the safety of his son to any other pilot. His heart swelled at the sheer amount of unconditional faith that Sam had, standing toe to toe with the Admiralty and winning... but the process took its toll, planting a seed of doubt in his mind.

He had tried to confide in Adam, despite knowing that he had never been as enthusiastic about these missions. It went about as well as he could have expected, years as flight partners and friends down the tubes. Not that Shiro could really say he didn't see it coming – they had been drifting apart for months, strained by different ideas for the future. Shiro was determined to fly and Adam wanted to stay planetside to teach. He had never understood Shiro's obsessive drive to go farther, faster, than anyone ever had, and how could he? There wasn't a time bomb sticking steadily away inside his body, waiting to betray him at the wrong moment and start the descent into a life as a cripple. He had decades to do all the things he wanted to in life, and Shiro had years at best.

In some ways it was inevitable, probably even for the better. At least it would spare someone the trouble of watching him waste away when the mission was all said and done. Best case scenario he would be stable enough when they came back down to still be in consideration for deep space, maybe the tech in his stimulants would be upgraded by then and he could last another mission or two.

He would give anything to take Keith into space, just one time. One chance to see the elation on his face as they rocket out of orbit, the light from the sun cresting on his face through the solar shielding, and the sparks from the igniting atmosphere reflecting in his eyes.

He's pretty sure he could die happy with that memory to cling to.

For now though, he goes to his place of solace - buried in the engine of his hover bike to take his frustrations out on the loose gasket that's been rattling around. It's almost enough to make him forget about the dull ache of another failed relationship and the unsettling lack of remorse that comes with it. The repetitive motions of going through his maintenance checklist ease the tension in his shoulders, even as the midday sun beats down on the exposed skin peeking through his loosened uniform. Ratcheting noises echo off the engine casing and almost cover the scuff of boots coming up behind him.

“When were you gonna tell me?” Keith's tone is hard as he strolls up to the bike, hands stuffed in his pockets defensively.

“Oh, hey Keith.” Shiro wipes his hands on the rag and smiles at him, but Keith's scowl doesn't ease.

“So what is it, are you sick or something?”

Shiro's heart sinks into his stomach and he turns to hop off the bike. “I- ah... I'm not sure I follow.”

Keith face pinches tighter and he cuts across Shiro's deflection.

“I was outside your office.” Dark eyebrows pull together in frustration. “I overheard you and Commander Holt talking to Admiral Sanda.” His tone shifts into something weary and desperate. “Tell me the truth, tell me what's wrong!” Hands pull free and he extends his arms, pleading. “I'm not a little kid, I can handle it!”

Shiro stares into the middle distance for a beat, watching his world start to catch fire at the edges. He heaves a sigh and closes his eyes. “I...” He can feel the lump in his throat rising, threatening to throttle the sentence. “Have a disease.” Keith flinches involuntarily and Shiro can't stand to look at him – doesn't want to see pity on the face of the one person who never made him second guess himself. He can't manage more than a whisper at his feet. “And it's getting worse.” He swallows hard and looks back up into Keith's wide eyes. “I'll only be able to maintain my peak condition for a couple more years, and after that...”

He trails off and turns back toward the bike as Keith's face twists, knowing he won't be able to continue if he has to look him in the eyes.

“The Garrison doesn't want me up there... neither does Adam.”

There's a soft intake of breath behind him before Keith's voice wavers out.

“So... what are you gonna do?”

Shiro stares at the metal in front of him, at his own clenched fists on it and the bracelet flashing up at him. His brow furrows in determination.

“I'm going on the mission.”

Keith blows out a shaky breath and Shiro hear boots scuff behind him, just before a pair of arms wrap around his midsection. He thinks the breathing on his back might be a little uneven, but he brings his own arm up to clasp Keith's thin ones, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

“You're gonna be great, Shiro.” Keith's muffled voice promises into his jacket. “I know you will.” The arms squeeze tighter and Shiro catches a quiet sniffle, finally turning around to hug Keith back properly.

“Thanks, Keith.” He chokes out, ducking his face into Keith's hair. “You're going to be even greater when I get back, right?”

Keith nods emphatically into his chest, clinging like a barnacle now. “That's right.” He tries to look up with a watery smile, but his eyes are glistening with unshed tears. “And nothing is gonna happen to you because you have to be my copilot so we can explore together.” His fists bunch into the back of Shiro's jacket and his mouth wobbles. “I won't let anything happen to you, Shiro.”

He chokes out the impossible promise so earnestly that Shiro almost believes him, blinking back his own tears and he moves a hand to cradle Keith's head to his chest.

“I know, buddy.” His thumb strokes through Keith's hair of its own accord, and Shiro can't even be bothered to care – it's not like there's anyone to be jealous anymore. “You always have my back.”

They stay there for a minute, trying to hold onto the time that they have together, before Shiro gives one last tight squeeze and holds Keith at arm's length by his shoulder. Ducking his head, he rubs a hand through his undercut with a sheepish grin, looking up at Keith through his lashes.

“So now I guess I can actually say no secrets, right?”

Keith gives a disbelieving snort and levels Shiro with a flat look.

“Am I going to find out you've been a girl this whole time next?” It morphs into a teasing grin as Shiro's expression stutters into bewilderment. “Because then I'd have to re-evaluate my whole sexuality again and it was bad enough the first time.”

Shiro's face catches fire, mind narrowing in on the concept of Keith finding him explicitly attractive. Of course, he's always known that Keith is gay, and he knows that he is handsome – he's even caught Keith checking him out in the gym, but it's one thing to casually look and an entirely different matter for him to _say_ it.

“I don't-” He stutters, mouth choosing not to do the words today. “I'm not-” He flails a hand up and down himself frantically, monkey brain coming to a rest gesturing to his crotch. “Boy.”

Keith's eyes bug out of his head for a second before he doubles over cackling, braced on his knee with an arm around his gut. Shiro's brain still hasn't rebooted and the monkey repeats the gesture, unsure why Keith is laughing.

The man in question flaps a hand at the motion and screeches, wiping tears from his eyes and finally sliding down the side of the hover bike to sit on the ground. “Boy!” He crows, pounding on his thigh with a fist. “Holy fuck Shiro, I know, I've showered with you!” He wheezes a giggling breath out and scrubs his face with his sleeve, grinning brightly up at Shiro's dumbstruck face. “You're definitely all man.”

Shiro can't do anything but nod, vaguely aware that this might be an unrecoverable blow to his dignity, but still thrown off kilter by his newfound ability to think of Keith in a attraction sort of sense. His higher brain function clicks back on with that thought and he sobers slightly, remembering that he's going to be taking off into space for an uncertainly long period of time soon. It certainly wouldn't do to get into any sort of weird triangle with Keith and Matt before leaving one of them and sealing himself into a tin can with the other.

Besides, for as much as he loves Matt, Shiro isn't sure he could stand to think of him in even a vaguely sexual sense without getting nauseous. He's seen the man grind up caffeine pills and stir them into a can of compressed cheese to carry around for 'enjoyable deployment' during finals week. That kind of knowledge sort of kills any inclinations toward a boner. Before that line of thought can run away any further, Shiro checks his watch and offers a hand down to the still snickering cadet to haul him up. Keith dusts himself off and punches Shiro on the shoulder, smiling up at him like nothing changed at all – no glances at his bracelet, no sad looks, just Keith and his unwavering faith. He has to shove down the feelings of gratitude and affection bubbling up in his chest, hoping that Keith can't see his heart pouring out in his smile.

“Mess hall is still serving lunch, want to grab something to eat?” He knows Keith is skipping class right now to find him, but he can't be bothered to berate him. “We can pull Matt out of his lecture.”

Keith nods and pulls out his tablet, shooting a message off to Matt to meet them in ten minutes and to get the stash ready.

“Of course, old timer.” He grins cheekily up at Shiro. “We still need to celebrate properly!” He takes a couple strides before striking a pose, one fist lifted into the air in a toast. “To Kerberos, and freedom from wet blankets!” Then he winks and takes off at a jog toward the hanger.

Shiro should probably feel bad about the snort that comes out of him at Keith's not so hidden opinions, but after today he can only trail behind him and be grateful for who he still has... and maybe prepare his body for enough wine to send them all to space prematurely.

 


	11. Chapter 11

One tipsy celebration was only the beginning. The next few months spin by in a blur of days spent chasing after every free moment. Once Adam moves out, Shiro sets Keith's palm to unlock his door and offers the same open room policy – though through some unspoken agreement Keith keeps his pants on for both of their sakes. Whenever Shiro and Matt can slip away from their obligations they're pulling Keith out of his classes on officer's request and tooling off together on little adventures, trying to cram as many memories in as they can before their long absence. Keith knows they must have talked about it, and normally he'd have his hackles up at the feeling of being pitied, but he honestly can't be anything but appreciative for the effort. He's never had friends like this before, ones that not only make it clear that they like him for who he is, but try to pound it into his head as an incentive to behave while they're gone – not that he needs any reason beyond being at the ceremony when they land.

The problem is he can already tell it's going to hurt like hell when they go, and all the extra attention now is only going to make it ache that much more. He already has firsthand experience in this, since not having his mom hurt a hell of a lot less than losing his dad – but he'd never ask them to stop. Shiro especially had been piling on the affection lately, not that Keith can begrudge him. It has to be hard going from having someone by your side to an empty apartment right before launching yourself into space. But still, all the loving friendship doesn't help the tiny crush he's been nursing since getting bailed out of juvie by the hottest guy he'd ever seen. To make matters worse, Shiro has been far more relaxed around him since Keith found out about his illness with the barrier between them reduced to rubble in an afternoon, and Shiro went from unattainable best friend to someone he falls asleep on during late night study sessions.

It hasn't done his heart any good, not when Shiro has to go and be all caring - draping a blanket over his shoulders and pulling him in to slump against his chest... apparently he'd been holding back his cuddly side for Adam's sake. Even Matt has been getting bear hugged by him lately, despite his strict 'no cuddling unless immediately post coitus and then only for like two minutes, no romo' policy. Still, it's not like Keith would ever complain about the hugs either. He might be getting laid on the regular now, but he's as touch starved as ever and Shiro's genuine care kicks a nice dent in his chest every time.

Even his time with Matt had shifted more toward frantic sex than casual hangouts, no more lazy hand jobs because someone didn't want to do homework. He's pretty sure that he's fucked Matt up against every surface of that dorm room just in the last week. After a particularly exhausting round he'd collapsed onto the bed and asked what had gotten into Matt, but had only gotten a cheeky grin and a 'Long celibate flight coming up' in return. Fortunately it hadn't gotten sappy or weird, despite the increased frequency, and Matt still smeared a handful of cum across his face for a laugh as often as he helped him clean up.

Needless to say, it is going to fucking suck when they leave.

Unfortunately, he's a masochist and is determined to claw out every spare second with the only two people he can honestly say he loves in any capacity before they leave him alone in unfriendly territory. Or at least, that's what he blames when he finds himself curled up in Shiro's bed at the end of a particularly grueling exam. Matt is definitely in his room right now, probably jerking off, but he just doesn't have the capacity to exist in any form other than liquid after three hours of equations, flight vectors, and doomsday scenarios... and Shiro had said that his door was always open.

So of course he wanders into the officer's barracks, ignoring the odd looks he gets as he slaps his palm into Shiro's scanner, and promptly shucks his shoes and drops his bag in the middle of the doorway before crawling into the unmade bed. The sheets still smell like Shiro and Keith doesn't even try to resist the urge to bury his face into the pillow and inhale like a total creep. His best friends in the whole world are leaving and he deserves every moment of moderately creepy indulgence that he can get. The world owes him that much at least. The quiet hum of the air vent lulls him into a doze where he's snuggled like a burrito into the covers, and he lets himself float in mindless bliss. He lays there drifting for what feels like hours, content and warm. Dreams of a weight settling in next to him and a hand petting through his hair slide their way into his top ten favorite. A deep voice murmurs through like he's underwater and Keith feels the inexplicable urge to purr like a content house cat and nuzzle into the sensation, so he does.

The hand in his dream goes still and he whines sleepily, nudging back into it. It would be just his luck if he can't even catch a break in his subconscious, but the hand starts back up again and a chuckle rumbles through the bed. Something shifts near him and a line of warmth settles across him, hampering his movement slightly as he rolls into it with a grunt.

“Easy, Keith.”

The hand brushes against his face, rough fingertips catching on his cheekbone, and he laments as the sensation drags him from his pleasant dream, blinking his sleepy eyes to see a grey pair staring back at him.

“Hey sleepyhead.” Shiro's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles at him, propped up on an elbow where he lays on top of the covers. Keith blinks up at him again, yawns widely, and decides he must still be dreaming, so he snuggles in close to the warm chest and nuzzles his face into those pecs. If he's going to have good dreams then he's sure as hell going to make the most of them. The chest moves under him with a huff of laughter and the hand is back in his hair. “Tough test then?”

Keith makes a noncommittal hum into his fleshy pillow, not willing to break the illusion for something as silly as speaking.

“I remember that one. I spent an entire week living in the library and still thought I failed it.” Shiro keeps talking and the rumble of his voice has Keith yawning again, drifting off into.... sleep?

His eyes snap open and he jerks backward, hissing a little at the tug of Shiro's hand in his hair.

“Ughh.” He groans and rubs at his eyes, trying desperately to feign nonchalance as his cheeks heat. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven.” Shiro's hand gives one last rub to the back of his head before he gestures at a box on the desk. “You didn't show up at dinner so I brought some back just in case you were here.”

“Oh, uh... thanks.” Hopefully the blood in his cheeks isn't as visible in the dimmed lights as it feels. He plants his hands on the bed and slides himself into a sitting position, looking down at Shiro's fond expression. Shiro is still a few inches and several layers of blankets away but Keith is still replaying the last few mortifying minutes of attempting to smother himself in that chest. “Sorry for stealing your bed...”

“Anytime.” Shiro's face radiates sincerity and Keith has to look away, stretching his back and arms against the headboard. Shiro eyes him for a minute, face twisting into something playfully teasing. “Now I can tell Matt you prefer my bed to his anyway.”

Keith chokes on his spit and doubles over coughing, painfully aware of the truth in that statement. He frantically flaps Shiro away as he attempts to slap at his back, eyes bugging out of his head as he whirls on him.

“Shiro-”

“I'm kidding!” Shiro knocks a knuckle under Keith's chin, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn't antagonize him right before strapping into a sardine can together for more than a year.” His smile slides a few shades softer as he takes in Keith's mussed hair and dark circles. “You look like hell though, feel free to keep napping.”

Keith snorts and gives him a dry look as he drags a hand through his tangled bedhead. “Gee, thanks.” His hand gets stuck halfway through and he yanks it free with a grumble, ignoring Shiro's tightly pressed lips and laughing eyes. “My beauty sleep got interrupted by some guy who lives here or whatever.”

Shiro nods sagely as he crawls over Keith to get the food. “Sounds like a real asshole.”

Keith hums absently, not paying once ounce of attention as Shiro's uniform pants pull tight across him with the stretch. Shiro looks back at the noise, eyebrow raised in question, and catches Keith's moony face aimed southward. He smirks and leans a little farther, wiggling as he snags the box and arching his spine to grab the napkin next to it. Keith swallows audibly behind him and Shiro turns back to him, crawling over again with an innocent expression. The covers are firmly bunched in Keith's lap.

“Room service, I like it.” Keith squeaks out, cheeks pink as he takes the box from Shiro's hands. Shiro is more inclined to call it dinner and a show, but that works too. He hands Keith the plastic cutlery and tilts him forward to shove another pillow behind his back, propping him all the way up so he doesn't choke. Keith arches an eyebrow at him and gestures to the box. “Are you gonna hand feed me too?”

Shiro puts on his best thoughtful face, rubbing his chin as he looks at the box. “Well, I was going to pre-chew it and regurgitate it back into your mouth like they do with baby birds, but if that's what you prefer...” He reaches for the fork and Keith yanks it away with a laugh.

“You're so fucking stupid.” His smile is silly as he shoves mac and cheese into his face and settles back into the pillow. Shiro warms a little at the life coming back into his corpse-like pallor.

He and Matt had been talking, both worried about how Keith will fare with his only real support system gone for the better part of two years. The chances of him finding new friends or considering talking to the Garrison issued shrink were slim to none, and Keith has the tendency to get in his own head when left to his own devices. Shiro's own therapist had broken him of the habit of self sabotage long ago, impressing upon him that he didn't have enough time left for any of that self defeating nonsense if he wanted to achieve his goals... but Keith had all the time in the world to soar or crash and burn at his leisure. Shiro knew that he was more than capable of the first option, but time and again the rest of the world proved ignorant and unwilling to peel back even the first defensive layer protecting his soft core. Ultimately it was their loss, but the result usually ended with Keith being ostracized and lonely, so determined not to get hurt that he burns his bridges preemptively. Only Shiro's unwavering refusal to be shoved away had gotten him this close in the first place.

Matt had agreed to leave him as an authorized user on both of their rooms while they were away, despite push-back from top brass about favoritism and improper access to the officer's barracks in Shiro's case. He'd had to pull the orphan card, putting on his most melancholy expression and explaining that Keith was the closest thing to family he had left, so could he _please_ be the caretaker of his estate in the meantime... and by the way he'll be at the launch with Colleen. It had gone through with minimal facial twitching, thanks in part to Sam as usual, and now Keith was listed as his next of kin. Hopefully the cadet would never need to find out.

Matt had faced less scrutiny, since all he had to do was override the security for the door and permanently add Keith as a user to that room. Shiro was mostly glad that Keith would have options – that he was close enough to Matt to feel like he could share that kind of thing while they were gone – but a tiny part of him hoped that Keith would move into Shiro's own room enough that he would have his lasting imprint here when he got back. After all, Keith is on track to be an officer by then and might need a roommate, and who better than someone who already knows his quirks? Of course, they might even have the option to move in to a unit for all three of them, but he's not sure that he wouldn't have to immediately throw himself off the balcony the first time he catches them having sex. Knowing about it and seeing the aftermath is one thing, watching Keith give that part of himself to someone else is an entirely different ball game.

Not else.

Just Someone.

After all, it's not like that. He just... is looking out for Keith, in a friendly way, like friends do.

Like friends card through each other's hair in their sleep and sit next to them as they eat mac and cheese in your bed, musing about a future together.

Just bro things.

Shiro can feel his internal Matt cackling away with that stupid look on his stupid face – the one with the stupid eyebrow raised and that smug grin – like he _knows_ things. But he doesn't, because there's nothing to know except that they need to set Keith up for success at all costs. Shiro will be damned if this spitfire chattering up at him with a mouthful of food and the world's sweetest smile will see an ounce of unnecessary pain.

It's what any good friend would do.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, none of them are in a position to stop the march of time.

Launch day looms on the horizon, pulling Matt and Shiro away for longer periods of time as they go through deep space training simulations and rigorous physical and psychological evaluations. It means that their time together goes from every day to every few days. Then to once a week or whenever they pass in the halls. Eventually it's a matter of scraping by on stolen time, one of them dropping by his dorm for five minutes before their tablet inevitably chirps and pulls them away again.

But it's fine. Keith knew this was going to happen sooner or later, and if the bags under their eyes are any indication it's not like they're off having fun without him.

Most days he finds himself lounging in one of their rooms after his classes, imagining that they're already gone and that the lonely ache starting to bubble up won't get any worse than this. Sometimes he tidies up and leaves little messages – smiley faces for Shiro and doodled middle fingers for Matt. Other times he gets inside and there are little messages already waiting for him, origami cranes or hastily doodled cartoons of his face with what is probably supposed to be stink lines.

On the rare occasions when he's feeling particularly salty he'll palm himself to full hardness and send Matt a picture of himself defiling his pillow.

Today is one of those days.

He's been keyed up from a lack of contact all week, with the exception of their traded notes, and Griffin being a smug piece of shit about it isn't helping. General consensus is that he's going to fall apart when they leave, and that asshole let slip about the betting pool on how long it takes for him to crack right before it was their turn in the sim.

Needless to say it hadn't gone great. He'd rocketed through it, burning on pure spite, but barely managed to land the thing with his jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth creak. The dressing down from Montgomery hadn't helped much, especially not when that fucker turned to the kid next to him and asked to bump his bet forward three weeks.

Shiro's voice in his head is the only thing that kept him from proving everyone right. He could be patient, it was only a bit over a year. It hadn't even started yet. He could do this.

He could go rub one out smugly in a room that wasn't occupied by seven other cadets.

So he does.

He's already half hard by the time he gets to Matt's room, practically automatic by now. There's a new little doodle on the desk – two stick figures, one with glasses and the other with a floof, collapsed on the ground with their stick arms raised toward a shuttle with the caption 'six months of sleeping through autopilot'. Keith snickers and pockets it, doodling his own response of a very handsome stick figure sleeping peacefully with a bowl of mac and cheese, a bottle of lube, and a tablet. He captions it 'Me enjoying your egyptian cotton sheets' and tucks it underneath the mug that's half full of suspicious liquid.

Then he shucks his pants and undershirt, throwing the jacket back on and tugging his boxers low as he settles back against Matt's pillows. He gives himself a cursory fondle as he grabs his tablet off the table, making sure the bulge is clearly visible. Then he grabs Matt's favorite pillow, a squishy blue throw full of microbeads that stretches and forms around whatever goes onto it – in this case, Keith's dick. Snapping a picture of just the pillow and his own thoughtful face is the fun part, nothing but it sitting there innocently against his chest. He sends it off to Matt, chancing that he'll check his pad no matter what meeting he's in.

Sure enough a little check mark pops up, followed by a set of dots immediately.

'You are not about to do what I think you're about to do.'

Keith immediately bursts into laughter, picturing Matt trying to stifle his horrified face at the meeting. He tugs down his boxers a little more, exposing the red tip under the waistband as he wiggles to get both his abs and just a sliver of the pillow in the shot. Satisfied, he sends that one off as well and only has to wait about thirty seconds for a response.

'You fucker I swear to god if I have to wash that thing again...'

Biting his lip with a grin, Keith taps back 'you'll what?' and pulls his boxers off completely, grabbing the base of his cock and thumbing the tip. He waits until it beads at the slit and lets it run down his thumb, snapping the picture when it gets to the first knuckle. The blue pillow sits innocently between his feet, a bright contrast against his rumpled cadet jacket.

The response is nearly instantaneous.

'ADGSKL I WILL END YOU.'

Keith barks a laugh so hard he accidentally squeezes down on his cock and hisses at the pressure, watching another bead work down the tip. This time he grabs the pillow and plants it across his abs, letting the head of his cock peek over the top of it. The fabric darkens obviously where his sticky handprint sits, and one glistening string connects the slit of his cock to a little damp patch beneath it.

'Oops (:'

He sends it with a grin and teases his balls while he waits.

'FML Iverson is _right here_ and I'm gonna walk out of here rocking a semi are you serious?!'

As far as Keith's concerned, that's not a 'stop' so he grabs the stretchy pillow and pulls the sides up and over his cock, making a channel to push into. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world, and the polyester casing kind of chafes as much as it slides, but its worth it for the sake of tormenting Matt. He gives a few thrusts until he can feel himself leaking a steady trickle, then he pushes himself forward through it so the full flushed head is visible and the fabric around it completely soaked. The position requires him to hold himself up with his ass off bed, abs clenched tightly with the jacket splayed open underneath him. His thighs and corded forearms are straining from holding it, but it looks fucking great and he snaps the picture before collapsing back into a lazy pile.

Matt takes long enough to respond that Keith discards the pillow and begins to stroke himself in earnest, sliding the precum over his shaft in a loose fist and thumbing at the head.

When his tablet does ping minutes later he's almost there, one hand teasing at his rim while he fucks into the other fist. It's almost not worth it to check, but curiosity and the urge to see Matt's garbled threats get the better of him and he eases back off.

He wipes his hand on the sheets and swipes it open to see a different picture – one taken surreptitiously that captures Shiro's violently red face, a bead of sweat running down the vein standing out on his temple. Iverson stands in the background, face utterly blank as he appears to narrate a slide behind him.

'Guess who's sitting next to me, asshole (:' Keith's brain stutters to a halt as he looks at the picture, taking in Shiro's clenched fists and the beginnings of a bulge in his slacks.

So much for subtlety.

'How much did he see?!'

He frantically taps out the message and drops the tablet squarely on his sweaty chest, still rock hard but not sure if he wants to finish with the shame looming over him now.

Matt pings back with a picture of his own shit eating grin captured in profile, making sure to get the way Shiro's palms are now flat against his thighs, fingers digging into the material of his pants. The tent is getting impressive now.

'Enough'

Keith groans and lets the tablet drop back down against his chest as he slaps his hand to his face, immediately grimacing at the smear of precum he forgot about as it sticks to his eyelashes. It's bad enough that Matt teases him about his crush every chance he gets, Keith can live with that, but this feels like one of those 'accidentally sexted the boss' moments in a bad soap opera. He lays there for a few minutes, hoping to somehow dissolve into the mattress rather than having to look Shiro in the eyes after this, but his cock is still pulsing despite his mortification, and if he doesn't get some kind of release after this clusterfuck of a day he's going to lose it.

Reaching down to squeeze himself gives the promise of instant relief and he can't hold back the whine that escapes his chest. He doesn't bother to take his time, slicking up his palm with the lube Matt keeps in the nightstand and working himself over in short, twisting jerks. It takes the edge off the burning arousal in his gut, but as he rolls his hips up into his fist he knows it isn't going to be enough after the day he's had. His data pad pings on the desk and he ignores it, not needing Matt's teasing to interrupt him now. Growling, he kicks off the sheets and shucks the jacket as he grabs the lube again and slicks up his other hand before rolling face down onto the bed and shifting up onto his knees. He reaches slick fingers back behind himself and tentatively presses one in, stuttering a cry into the pillow as he's torn between thrusting into his fist and back onto his fingers.

It's the best kind of torture.

It doesn't take long before one finger is just a tease and he starts to slide another in, rubbing at his own walls as he whimpers into the bed and writhes. The angle isn't great and his wrist starts to ache when he tries to add a third, so he widens his knees into a near split, enough for the head of his cock to drag on the bed every time he fucks through his fist. He needs to be split open, to be fucked into incoherent bliss until the world narrows down to just the cock inside him and his own cries drowning out the opinions of everyone else. Snarling in frustration, Keith twists his shoulder back to get a precious extra inch and shoves in a fourth finger, picturing strong hands clamping down on his hips as he gets pounded into the mattress. He needs to feel the slap of balls against his own, the crash of hips knocking the breath from his lungs as he's split open and drooling on the sheets. Bubbling pleasure builds behind his navel and Keith keens, spreading his thighs impossibly further as the head of his cock drags across the sheets and his fingers finally graze his prostate.

“Oh fuck- fuck! Shiro!” He cums with a shout, spraying across the bed and onto his turned cheek, as he spasms around his own fingers. The relief of the day's tension is instantaneous and he slumps forward on the bed into his own sticky mess, sliding his fingers free with a grimace and wiping them on the sheets. Common courtesy would dictate that he change them after this, but he's not sure he can move, and he's not feeling particularly charitable. Especially not after blowing his load with his best friend's name on his lips - fantasy courtesy of his other best friend's meddling.

The pad chirps again and Keith rolls over to grab it, fully prepared for the dragging of a lifetime.

'Out of the meeting now, we're free tonight, put your pants on.'

From fifteen minutes ago... then the next.

'Fucker you better have boxers on ETA two minutes I swear to god if I see your pasty ass again today and can't put my dick in it we're gonna brawl.'

Keith flails off the bed and lands in a thump, frantically digging through the mess on the floor for his boxers. He finds them under the desk and yanks them up before pulling his undershirt on to cover the smear of cum down his chest. It sticks uncomfortably, but he doesn't have time to wipe it up when he hears Matt talking obnoxiously loudly in the hallway.

“Look, Shiro, we're almost to my door!” His voice is only slightly muffled by the steel and Keith rips the sheets off the bed, balling them up with the pillow and shoving the whole thing in a suspicious lump under the frame. “I sure hope we won't be interrupting anything by opening the door in approximately ten seconds.”

He bites down a curse and bats the lube off the bed, kicking it underneath with the bundle and dousing his hands in sanitizer. He can hear the boots coming to a stop in front of the door and he throws himself onto the stripped bed with a textbook, aiming for nonchalance.

The door whooshes open and Matt stands in the doorway with a hand over Shiro's eyes, his own squinted nearly shut.

“You good?”

Keith sniffs and aims a haughty expression his way.

“I don't know why I wouldn't be.”

Matt drops his hands and looks around the room open mouthed.

“What did you do, fuck yourself on every surface?”

Shiro turns bright red and tries very hard to keep a straight face as he fixes his vacant stare on the far wall.

Keith sniffs again and turns a page, clicking a pen he swiped off the nightstand. “Your sheets were dirty, I removed them.” He fixes Matt with a raised eyebrow. “You're welcome.”

Shiro coughs into his hand delicately, risking a glance down at Keith before flushing even further.

“Your ah... book is upside down.”

Keith looks down at his lap. So it is.

Matt snickers and throws him a wicked grin.

“And you've got cum on your face.”

Well fuck.

Between the heavy musk of sex and the suspicious wet spots on the available seating, it takes them all of five minutes in the Den of Sin to determine that Shiro's officer suite would be a better place to hang out. Matt at least takes pity on Keith and tosses him something to make up for the sticky undershirt, but the jacket is a rumpled lost cause. Shiro keeps looking at it, gaze trailing down before he goes alarmingly red and yanks his head back up... only to have his attention caught by the way it's pushed over Keith's forearms five minutes later.

He'll never look at Keith's forearms the same way again – he's not sure how Matt is still walking normally, having experienced those forearms firsthand and being in such tempting proximity to them. Keith looks like a guy who gives good forearm, looks like he gives good everything really. Judging from the picture he can't unsee, Shiro wants Keith to give him all the forearms he's got, over and over again.

But as usual, weeks out from launch is not the time to raise the prospects of maybe wanting to do more than play checkers with the guy you bailed out of juvie. At least Matt's constant harassment has gotten him past the 'too old for him' excuse, but Matt still hasn't come up with a good rebuttal for 'going to be too dead for him in five years', so Shiro's milking that one to keep the meddling at bay.

Maybe when he gets back, if research has gone farther, if space is kind to his body, if he still has a fighting chance... if Keith isn't with someone, if he ever even looked at Shiro like that.

But maybe not, it's a long flight, and anything could happen.

Which is why he and Matt had agreed to bail on the last meeting and spend the night with Keith before they get pulled into isolation training and temporary quarantine. Today will be the last time they have more than a minute in the same place until launch day, and then...

Shiro tries not to think about how bittersweet it is that his life dream is coming true at the expense of his best friend – but maybe that's dramatic. Keith is the strongest person he's ever met, and god knows he's not going to take anyone's shit while they're gone, but Shiro still can't shake the worry that Keith's tendency to isolate himself is going to destroy the progress he's made here.

Either way, it drives him to sling an arm around Keith's shoulder tonight and tug him in close to his side, like he can brand himself onto Keith's body as a warning for the next year. He can see Matt doing the same, snagging Keith's data pad when he isn't looking and encoding their hailing frequency like they'd discussed – technically for emergencies only and the messages self destruct, but who knows what might happen. Shiro knows that Matt has started collecting odds and ends in his room just for Keith's enjoyment when he's gone too. He's filled the bookshelf full of titles he wouldn't be caught dead with, and made sure the trunk full snacks is stocked for the long hall. In fact, Matt's put in so much effort to make his room Keith's safe haven without the other cadet even noticing that Shiro should probably be nervous about more serious feelings. He might be, except that Matt appears to be on a one man warpath to get Shiro to confess his totally normal feelings at the world's most inopportune time.

Regardless, tonight is about making sure Keith knows he's important, that they will always have his back no matter how many millions of miles are between them. So they keep him laughing and buy him dinner, slip their old textbooks into his bag, hug him too much, and sit on the rooftop to watch the stars streak by with him smooshed between them. They share a fond look as he dozes off propped between two sets of shoulders and Shiro checks the time with a sad sigh. It's far past a reasonable time for them to be awake with their looming schedule, and completely after Keith's curfew as well. Shiro climbs to his feet with an arm wrapped around Keith's waist and gently lifts him into his arms. For all his venom and fury, Keith looks like a doll as he snuggles into the warmth on instinct, barely weighing enough for Shiro to put in effort. Matt's knowing look sears into Shiro's bones as he slings Keith's bag over his shoulder and plods after him.

“That looks pretty natural.” Matt's voice is uncharacteristically serious as he looks at Keith cradled in Shiro's arms. “Like it was always meant to be like that, you know?”

Shiro ducks his head and holds Keith closer to him, not bothering to argue. What else even is there for him to say? Matt knows that he's been thinking about what could happen after the mission, and there's no point in lying.

“I wish it could be.” He swallows hard and holds Keith a little closer to his chest. “He deserves... everything.”

Matt eyes him and nods once to himself before turning and heading down the stairs. They plod down the hallway in silence, not wanting to draw attention from the patrols before they stop at Matt's room. He transfers the bag to Shiro's arm before slipping inside and murmuring a goodnight, squeezing Shiro's shoulder hard. Then he's alone with his cargo, taking care not to jostle his sleeping bundle as he slinks into the officer's barracks and palms his door open. The bag ends up by the door and, before he can think better of it, he's laying Keith down gently in his own bed and unlacing his boots. The cadet barely stirs, only letting out a sleepy grumble as Shiro wiggles them off his feet and props him up to slide the jacket off his shoulders. The pants are going to have to stay.

Satisfied that Keith will be comfortable for the night, he reaches over him and grabs the extra pillow to make himself a spot on the couch, unable to help brushing Keith's bangs back from his forehead as he pulls away.

“Goodnight Keith.” He murmurs, and leans down to drop an impulsive kiss to the crown of his head. Keith stirs weakly, cracking open one eye, and Shiro blushes to his ears but Keith doesn't seem to notice.

“Stay?”

Shiro's heart leaps out of his chest at the sleepy croak, unable to tell which one of them is dreaming. He gives Keith's shoulder a squeeze and steps back, sure Keith doesn't mean it in his delirious state. Before he can take a step a hand catches his wrist and Keith's brow furrows, both eyes open now.

“Please.”

And really, who is Shiro to deny Keith his wish on their last full afternoon together? So he eases his own boots and uniform jacket off to slide in next to Keith, within arms reach but still safely apart for his own sanity – but Keith has always been tactile, and Shiro soon finds himself with a mouthful of hair and strong arms wrapped around his waist. Keith wriggles sleepily into this side, pillowing his face on Shiro's chest and slotting his leg in between Shiro's thighs as he clings like a barnacle. It's heaven and hell all at once, and Shiro wants to cry at how he finally has everything he wants in life right in his arms but, as usual, never enough time to enjoy it. He swallows down the bitter thoughts and tucks his nose into the crown of Keith's head, breathing deeply and letting the sound of his soft snores lull him to sleep.

Waking up with the same warm body tucked into his arms is everything Shiro never hoped to have and it rips his heart out bright and early. Even with the drool on his chest and the hair up his nose, Keith's groggy face blinking up at him is the most beautiful thing Shiro has ever seen. A hand clenches in his shirt and toes push against his calf as Keith stretches out, back arching and plastering his body into Shiro's side. He swallows around his dry tongue and tries to smile down at the grouchy scrunched face.

“Hey.” He whispers into the quiet of the morning, not willing to shatter the moment yet. “Sleep okay?”

Keith hums and rolls the other direction, flexing the fingers of the arm he had been laying on. It takes every molecule of willpower in Shiro's body not to mold to Keith's back and bury his nose in the base of his neck. He feels like he's hit the point of no return, no fleeing from the overwhelming rush of affection for this boy in his bed, no way to pretend it's anything friendly.

So he does what he always does.

He stretches up and carefully crawls over Keith, tucking him back in to sleep the extra hour between Shiro's meeting and his own classes, and then he steps back. The shower doesn't take long, as cold as it is, and it shocks some sense back into his system. He takes his time shaving and putting on a new uniform before stepping back into the bedroom. Keith has rolled into the warm spot he left behind, completely octopussed around Shiro's pillow with his face buried deeply into it, and Shiro is drawn to him like a comet streaking toward a nearby black hole. He sits on the edge of the bed and runs a hand down his back, feeling a soft smile pull at the corner of his mouth as Keith murmurs into the pillow and hugs tighter.

“I've got to go, Buddy.” Shiro keeps his voice low, but it's so unmistakably fond that he's grateful Keith is mostly incoherent. He strokes his thumb against the knob of Keith's spine and reaches over to set the alarm on his data pad for an hour from now. “Have a good day.”

He takes grabs his bag and tablet from the table, hesitating at the door before he turns to take one last look at the man in his bed. It's pure selfishness that makes him take the picture that he swears won't become his background until the long trip to Kerberos.

 

* * *

 

Keith wakes up to the incessant beeping of his alarm and the scent of Shiro wrapping him like a warm embrace. Fumbling, he shuts the alarm off and rolls out of the rumpled spot where he had fallen asleep the night before, curled desperately around his best friend. He can't say it's the first or even the twentieth time he's fallen asleep in Shiro's bed, but it's the first time Shiro hasn't bothered to take the couch. Something about it feels terribly final, like it's the last intimate moment they'll share and he wasn't even awake to enjoy it properly. The feeling burns a hole in his chest as he staggers out of the bed and into the bathroom, barely resisting the pathetic urge to nuzzle into the damp towel Shiro left behind. He gives his teeth a cursory brush and tries to flatten his hair into something less 'Fell asleep in someone else's dorm' and more 'Effortless bedhead', but the overall effect isn't particularly helpful in covering up the creeping melancholy that follows him like a cloud.

Keith knows that last night was their version of a last hurrah, he's seen the schedule that Matt tries to keep squirreled away out of sight. It makes today feel like a gallows walk, knowing that now the countdown begins in earnest and they've hit the beginning of the end. He can already tell today will be measured in success by his ability to manage not to yell at anyone or cry by the end of it, but he hauls himself to class anyway, dutifully planting his corporeal existence in the middle of whatever the world has planned for the day. It's depressingly uneventful for something that feels like the slow leaking of air from the room, but he makes it through.

The next few days are much the same, routine blurring classes into something resembling responsibility soup and Keith ticks each day off the calendar above his own bunk on the rare occasion he's in his dorm. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of Shiro or Matt, no new notes on their desks, no messages pinging his pad. The isolation training must have started, and it feels like the worst dress rehearsal ever. The rest of the Garrison is abuzz with excitement in the final week, talk about mission specs, success rates, and the new press release featuring photos of the crew.

Of course Shiro looks so handsome it makes him ache to look at him in his crisp uniform, and even Matt's dorky grin yanks at a heartstring. Each conversation Keith floats past adds to the drone of a thousand mosquitoes in his ears, jabbering away about people they don't know, won't miss, and can't love like he does. The night before the launch his entire body feels like he's been injected with Novocaine and he sits in his shared room, ignoring the looks from the other cadets as he tries not to give them the satisfaction of watching him hyperventilate. A single ping from his tablet interrupts his musings about putting an anonymous bet into the 'Keith has a Breakdown' pool for a day and a half from now, just so he has money to live off when he inevitably crashes and burns.

He scrambles for the pad, knowing full well there are only two people that message him, and this might be the last time he hears the chime for a while.

“Sorry I can't be there tonight, Sweetcheeks. You should head to the roof.”

His boots get yanked on so fast that he almost faceplants on his way out the door, hooting laughter following him into the hallway before it can slide shut. Griffin's voice is smug over it. “Ten bucks on tomorrow night.” But Keith honestly doesn't give a single shit as he tears down the hallway and up the stairs.

He flings the door open, panting for breath as he scans the rooftop, and his eyes fall on Shiro's seated form. His posture is relaxed despite Keith's dramatic entrance, head tipped back to look up at the stars and arms braced behind him. Polished boots scuff up against the lip of the roof in front of him where his legs are splayed, and he turns his head a fraction – just enough to let Keith catch the edge of a smile.

“Hey Buddy.”

Shiro's voice knocks something loose in Keith and he practically flings himself onto him, wrapping his arms around Shiro's broad shoulders and burying his face into his collar. Holding back the sob that threatens to tear out of him is a losing endeavor, and Keith follows it up with a few shuddering breaths for good measure.

“Oh, Keith...”

There's no pity in Shiro's tone as he winds a hand into Keith's hair and scratches blunt nails at the base of his skull - just melancholy affection and a twinge of regret. He wraps his other hand solidly around Keith's waist and lets himself fall back onto the concrete, crushed under the weight of grief and boy.

“I'm sorry I couldn't get away until now.” He murmurs into Keith's hair, ignoring the growing damp spot at his collar. “They confiscated our tablets for confidentiality reasons.”

Keith nods into his jacket, unable to find the words to respond. Thankfully, Shiro has never needed them to understand.

“Matt is with his family tonight, or he'd be here too.” Shiro's voice rumbles through his chest like they're having any other conversation, knowing exactly what Keith needs to hear. “He set our emergency relay in your tablet, but it's on a long delay and will alert command to inbound and outbound signals when you send or receive.” Keith feels a flutter in chest like gratitude and hope and fondness all wrapped up into one as he nods into Shiro's chest. “Anything on the channel gets deleted immediately after opening, so don't check it if you don't have time.”

Shiro's fingers tighten in the back of Keith's jacket and he ducks his head, his breathing faltering from its steady rhythm.

“If you need anything... I know it's for emergencies, but... I swear I'll be there, Keith.”

Keith feels his throat tighten and his eyes prickle, so he just nods again, fighting back ugly sniffles... but Shiro deserves more than that, so he inhales shakily and clears his throat.

“I know.” He croaks against Shiro's chest, unwilling to let go even for a moment. “I know you will be.”

He swallows hard and pulls his head back to look Shiro in the eyes, catching the reflection of the stars in the gloss of unshed tears there. “You know I'll be here waiting for you.”

Shiro's breath catches and his smile wobbles into something heartbreaking. He shrugs in a way that Keith knows is self deprecating, like he thinks Keith might not... like he thinks he isn't worth waiting for, and it pries its way into Keith's chest cavity. Fierce determination makes him lean forward and take Shiro's face in his hands, stroking his thumbs across sharp cheekbones. He meets Shiro's stare dead on, unwilling to let him fly away uncertain.

“I will wait for you, Takashi Shirogane.” He stretches up on shaking limbs, combing the soft forelock aside to brush a kiss across smooth skin. “As many days as it takes.”

 

When Shiro walks him back to his dorm they don't bother to hide from his classmates. Shiro stands in the hall, backlit as he presses their foreheads together and murmurs words meant for Keith alone. Keith watches him walk away down the hallway, lifts a hand as Shiro turns to look back before he rounds the corner. There are no mocking whispers when the door shuts behind him.

Later, when he stands with Colleen and Katie in the family area of the launch zone, he will touch his forehead and grasp the silly last doodle in his pocket tightly. His eyes will be dry and his back will be straight. The cameras will catch nothing but a proud smile. Takashi Shirogane will turn as he steps onto the shuttle and press a hand to his chest, and Keith will return it with his own. Matthew Holt will turn with him and look on with a soft smile and a hand planted on Shiro's shoulder.

Keith will watch his heart and partner in crime launch themselves into the sky until they're nothing but the specks in his imagination. Katie will sniffle and he'll turn to her with an understanding smile and unfold the doodle in his pocket.

But in the dark of the officer's barracks he will cling to freshly laundered sheets and weep.

 


	12. Chapter 12

There are a lot of disappointed gamblers in the Garrison halls three months later.

The first week or so after the launch had been rocky for Keith, feeling the constant eyes of his classmates on him, the whispers as he walked by in a stoic fog... but years in the home had taught him to bury his feeling deeply and reveal no gaps in his armor. Once people seemed to realize they wouldn't be getting to watch the meltdown of year, they lost interest – talk about Kerberos became old news until they received another status update, but space travel is long, and those are few and far between.

At least the usual disdain that leaked back in was a welcome change to the pitying or outright malicious whispering. Keith could work with that, spite had always been a great motivator in his life, pushing him to survive where everyone thought he would burn out – this was really no different. The time that had previously been reserved for Shiro's tutoring sessions became his hours of haunting the library. Lazy afternoons in Matt's bed morphed into time spent beating the hell out of a bag in the gym. He didn't spar much anymore. What was the point without his partner?

The other cadets and upperclassmen around him begin to whisper that he had converted to some sort of ascetic religion where he could nothing but eat, study, sleep, and train. Someone even started the rumor that he had taken a vow of silence until Shiro returned - which was ridiculous of course, he still had to speak when spoken to in class and in sims when necessary, but people love a good story. The only thing that broke through the feeling of numb grit to see through the next year was the sliver of spiteful glee that he was climbing in the standings without Shiro around. It had been a sore spot since he'd been accepted on Shiro's recommendation – the whispers that he was only there because he sucked Shiro's cock for grades, the insinuations that he didn't take his own tests or do his own work and only got by on his piloting – but now Shiro was gone and Keith had nothing better to do than work.

So he did.

The only thing sweeter than crossing off another day on his calendar was watching his class ranking climb higher with every test – Griffin and his cohorts could eat shit. Matt and Shiro were going to come back and Keith would be there in his dress greys waiting for them as a newly minted officer, graduating at the top of his class. Then no one could say that he didn't do it on his own, and Shiro would be so proud of him for listening to his advice... maybe they could move into a suite together and go on missions as copilots with Matt as the navigator if he proves that there's no one better than himself.

Maybe he could do so well they'll promote him and he can direct research funding and force them to look into a permanent solution for Shiro's bracelets. Maybe-

Maybe...

Keith sighs, slumping over Shiro's desk onto his textbook. He's been studying for so long that his eyes are blurring and his mind drifts to these wild fantasies. Before the launch, things like this might have made him embarrassed, but he can't even be bothered to blush. The old adage 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' rings in his ears every time he thinks about Shiro and Matt and how devastatingly lonely it is without them, but there's nothing to be done for it. All he can do is slog through his work as best he can and be there waiting when they get back...

He straightens his spine, grabs his highlighter, and reads the page again.

* * *

“Hey Shiro.” Matt's playful voice comes from somewhere above him – below him? It's hard to tell with the artificial gravity off... “I bet you I can squirt this directly into your mouth from here.”

Shiro snorts and pushes off the console with one hand to turn himself. “What are you trying to poison me with now?” He fixes Matt with a flat look as the other man squints at him with one eye, trying to aim a packet of gelatinous rations his way. “Because the last time you did this it was that 'pork' flavor and we had to figure out how to get floating vomit into the waste receptacle.”

Matt hesitates at that, face wrinkling at the memory and his dad's scolding. The remaining pork flavored rations had been promptly disposed of, and Matt had been on cleaning duty that whole week. He glances down at the package in his hands and gives it a test squeeze to feel it ripple under his fingers.

“It says grape, how bad could it be?”

Shiro's expression doesn't waver from his best Colleen Holt impression.

“Shouldn't we be saving food rations for when we're starving to death on the way back?”

Matt shrugs and jerks a thumb back to the kitchenette, setting himself spinning with the motion.

“Did you see how much they gave us? We could be up here for three years and not even have to break into any more meat flavors.” He flails a little to spin himself the whole way around to face Shiro again and wiggles his eyebrows. “C'mon, live a little!” Shiro looks unconvinced and Matt's face goes sudden sly, shooting Shiro a look over his shoulder as the spinning turns him around again. “I bet Keith would play with me...”

It's bait. Shiro knows it's bait, but he can't help but rise to it.

“Back up to the capsule door, loser.” Shiro grins despite himself and steadies his arms against the console. “One squeeze, no push off.”

Matt hoots a laugh and pumps his fist, pushing off the bulkhead to brace himself in the doorway. Shiro snickers as he fumbles with the packaging. Their prior research has shown that maximum accuracy and speed comes from proper pressurization, so Matt holds his thumb over the tip and slides his fingers up the tube until he can feel it pushing at his thumb.

“Say 'Ah'!”

Shiro opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, doing his best not to float away so Matt can't accuse him of sabotage. Currently he's the reigning champion at this game, but they both have the sneaking suspicion it's only because Sam won't play with them. Matt's grin goes wicked and Shiro barely has enough time to swallow down his spit before the thumb slips off the tip and a purple amoeba oozes out at an impressive speed for zero gravity. Matt groans as it begins to spread outward, too much pressure built up beforehand to keep it in a stream, and Shiro dutifully keeps his mouth open even as he cringes at the approaching glob. The first wet smack hits his cheek bone, and it's just viscous enough that it doesn't bounce back off – the rest hit anywhere between his chin and forehead and soon his face looks like a Pollock painting. He licks his lips to catch the flavor, since Matt had managed somehow not to get a single glob in the actual goal of Shiro's mouth.

“It's not... terrible?” He shrugs and squeezes one eye shut to avoid the jiggling mess from getting into it and burning. “Now get me a rag, you kinda suck at this.”

Matt is torn between giggling and pouting at his spectacular failure as he floats over to grab the rag and his data pad. He can't help but snicker at Shiro's face, both eyes closed now, and he takes a picture before pressing the rag into Shiro's outstretched hand.

“I'm gonna save this one for Keith...” He mutters to himself, grinning at it as he crops it closely to Shiro's face and labels it 'alien bukakke' for good measure.

“What?” Shiro smears the gel around his face, leaving a purple tinge to his skin as he cocks an eyebrow at Matt. The angelic expression he gets in return sets off alarm bells and he narrows his eyes at the tablet. “What did you do.”

“Oh nothing.” Matt blinks up at him sweetly, pushing off to float to safety and tuck the pad in his locker. “Just getting souvenirs to remember how fun our time together up here is.”

Shiro snorts and throws the rag to little effect, propelling himself backward into the console in the process.

“Yeah, I'm sure.” He twists around to look out the viewport as they round the edge of their slingshot past Jupiter. “Because these several thousand hours spent rocketing through space are going to be so forgettable.”

His voice takes on an awed tone as the sun washes back over the capsule, finally out of the giant planet's shadow. It crests blindingly against their solar tinted windows, but Shiro can't help but plant his hand against the glass and stare back at where he knows their tiny blue speck is.

Matt pushes off his locker and floats over, snagging a hand into Shiro's shirt and coming to rest with his elbow planted on Shiro's shoulder and his body floating horizontally behind him. He sets his chin in his palm and eyes Shiro's wistful face thoughtfully.

“You miss him.” It's not a question, and Shiro's mouth twists a little as he gives a short nod, not bothering to look at Matt on his shoulder. A gust of breath blows both of their bangs upward where they stay. “I miss him too.”

Shiro strokes his thumb against the glass of the viewport. “I wish I knew how he was.” He murmurs, almost too quiet for Matt to hear. “I hope he's alright.”

Matt drops his elbow off and grips Shiro's shoulder tightly, pulling himself down to the same plane and wrapping his arm around the other shoulder. “He's tough.” He squeezes once for good measure and nudges the side of his head against Shiro's arm. “He'll be okay.”

Shiro gives a tight nod in response, not pulling his gaze from the window until he hears Sam climbing through the doorway behind them.

“Great news boys!” Sam beams as he hauls himself through and pushes over to the console. He taps a series of commands into the communications rig and the screen whirs to life as it starts the booting process. “Now that we're clear of Jupiter's interference we can send a short status update!” He grins and flattens his hair down into something presentable. “This will be one of the video relays they'll play in the main hall, so...” He eyes the purple smears over the two of them and shakes his head. “Maybe go get cleaned up?”

They share a grin and Matt plants a hand on Shiro's face, pushing off him to sail into the residential capsule.

“Better hurry up Shiro!” He calls back with a grin, hooking a hand around the edge of the door and throwing himself through feet first. “Gotta look nice for your boyfriend!”

Shiro grumbles and launches off the console after him, pulling off his splattered shirt as he disappears through the module door.

Sam watches them go with a smile and a shake of his head before turning to set up the cameras to record.

* * *

“Cadets!” Iverson barks at their assembled ranks in the auditorium as they continue to shuffle in and fill the rows of chairs. “Today we have a special treat for you, despite most of you being undeserving...” He pauses to scowl at them, squinting in disdain at the various rumpled uniform violations and haircuts nearly out of regulation, before he shrugs and continues. “The Kerberos shuttle module has cleared the slingshot past Jupiter and checked in at 0500 hours this morning, they've taken their precious time up there to send an official mission log and it would behoove you all to take note. Some day it may be one of you up there.” The last words are spit out as if it physically pains him to say it and he steps aside abruptly, gesturing to one of the techs to roll the tapes.

Keith sits forward in his seat with a sharp intake of breath as the video starts, uncaring of the glances he garners from the seats next to him. Sam's face wobbles into view, his grin bright and huge in the screen as he nods his head and backs off from the camera.

“Ah, there we go! We're rolling, boys.” He turns around and propels himself backward, revealing Shiro and Matt in the frame behind him as they catch onto his clothes with grins of their own. Keith's heart is torn between bursting with pleasure at the sight of them and bleeding freely all over again, maybe not the best change from its usual dull ache. It's so good to see them though, alive and smiling up in the stars visible through the port behind them. They each give a wave at the camera before Sam clears his throat.

“Hello mission control! This is Captain Holt of the Kerberos crew checking in with Shiro and Matt here. We've just completed our slingshot around Jupiter-” He throws a smile in Shiro's direction as he gestures to him. “-thanks to the skills of our wonderful pilot here.” Shiro colors on the camera and beams back at Sam. Matt reaches over to flick his ear behind Sam's back and Keith bites back a snort at the silly familiarly. Sam catches the movement and rolls his eyes, gesturing to Matt with his other hand. “-and thanks to our navigator of course.” Matt preens and Shiro sticks his tongue out at him.

A ripple of laughter makes its way through the auditorium and Iverson places a hand to his face, as if suddenly realizing his Golden Boys were both barely into their twenties with minimal supervision in a billion dollar spacecraft. The entire exchange makes Keith's hibernating heart swell with affection for them, his buried feelings bubbling up through the carefully concealed chinks in his armor.

On screen, Sam smothers a laugh and clears his throat. “We are a day or two ahead of projected schedule and have made adjustments to landing trajectories accordingly, though that won't be for a few months yet.” He looks around the capsule for a moment, lingering on his crew with a fatherly look. “All in all it's going great!”

Keith half expects the transmission to cut off there, barely a tease at what he's missing now and just enough to poke holes in his careful facade – but the tape keeps rolling as Sam gestures to Matt who steps up and digs into his pockets with a grin.

“Hi everyone, Mom and Katie in particular! It's really cool up here, even if Shiro snores.” Shiro squawks indignantly and another ripple of laughter floats around the auditorium. Keith snickers with them, fully aware of how untrue that is having fallen asleep near him enough times. Matt pulls a paper out of his pocket and unfold its, a little stick figure doodle drawn and captioned in the unintelligible shorthand he and Keith use. “It's given me plenty of time to work on my art skills, I might even switch careers when we come back down and become a cartoonist.” He disappears from the shot for a second before reappearing with a whole stack of doodles that he adds the new one to, and tucks them into an envelope labeled 'Sweetcheeks'. It gets waved at the camera once with a familiar softly teasing grin. “But you'll have to wait and see.”

The envelope gets launched out of frame and he waves at the camera, grabbing Sam's wrist as he follows it. “See you soon, Buddy! ...uh, _buddies_.”

Then they're gone and it's just a semi-bewildered Shiro in the shot.

“Uh... hi everyone.” He rubs a hand to the back of his head where the undercut is starting to grow out. “I'm Shiro...” He cringes, and looks into the camera sheepishly. “But you already know that of course.” He fumbles with a his hands for a moment, looking between them and the camera before he sucks in a breath and meets it dead on. “The mission is going as expected with little atmospheric interference, crew health remains in peak condition and rations are-” His face twitches for a moment and Keith knows that ghost of a smile fluttering at the corners of his eyes. “-edible and well stocked. Our current speed puts us at an earlier ETA than expected as Sam mentioned, and we should be hitting Kerberos in no time.” He pauses for a moment and looks out the viewport before turning back to the camera. “Sample analysis shouldn't take too long and then we'll be headed back before you know it. So uh-” The 'Pride of the Garrison' tone drops out of his voice as he fumbles for his next words. “So hang in there.”

Keith sucks in a breath and holds it, not trusting it to come out steady as Shiro pins the camera with a soft smile. It feels like his heart is already on the way to bursting when Shiro digs around in his pants pockets for a moment and pulls out a careful folded paper crane.

“Matt was right, we've had a bit of free time to practice some hobbies... gotta make sure we don't forget the things we've left on Earth that are important to us.” He lets it go and it floats to the camera slowly on a perfect collision course. “So, this is Takashi Shirogane, signing off for the Kerberos crew...” He swallows and eyes the camera as he floats closer to turn it off. “Just remember, patience yields focus... I'll see you soon.”

The crane boops gently into the lens right as the screen blacks out, like a tiny paper kiss across a galaxy that Keith feels into his soul. The auditorium bursts into unnecessary applause for people that aren't around to hear it and – with the exception of Matt – wouldn't appreciate it anyway. Iverson gets to his feet and stomps over to the microphone, waving down the cheering.

“Alright, ALRIGHT.” The noise dies down as the microphone shrieks. “There you have it, Kerberos mission update from our... finest.” He shakes his head and sighs before fixing the student body with a stern look. “Now get back to class.”

The screech of chairs and swell of chatter is overwhelming as his classmates file out around Keith, still stuck to his chair. He's afraid that if he gets up and walks out of the safe darkness of the auditorium, his heart will be written on his face and it will erase the progress he's made to escape the prying eyes around him. So he sits, staring at the black screen until everyone else has filed past and the squeak of the doors stops. Iverson putters around up front collecting papers as the tech unhook cables from the laptop on the podium, he startles a little when he looks up and sees Keith's vacant stare.

“Cadet.” He barks, then seems to think better of it when Keith flinches, hands trembling on his knees. He clears his throat and tries for something gentler, though maybe not quite hitting the mark. “Cadet... do you have class now?”

Keith shakes his head, croaking out a “No sir. Lunch break, sir.”

Iverson sighs, knowing that he's been fortunate the kid hadn't turned into a total basket case when Shirogane and Holt left – by all accounts he's done far better than expected, thriving academically but completely withdrawing into himself otherwise. He's never been one to handle a cadet with kid gloves, but if anyone deserves it, it might be this one.

“Cadet... try to make it to the mess hall before they close tonight.” He settles a hand on a bony shoulder and gets a glossy stare up at him for his troubles. It's the kind of hauntingly pathetic that they play on animal shelter commercials, even with the kid's obvious efforts to hide it. He can see why he didn't file out with the others. “This hall locks at 2100 hours.” The cadet nods jerkily, fists clenched in his lap.

Iverson shakes his head and sighs, removing his hand and walking out the door. The kid will make a great pilot someday if he doesn't implode first.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Recovering from the temporary siege on his walls takes less time than Keith had hoped for, each brick sliding into place with an efficiency that almost makes him worry he is becoming less human as each day wears on. Not that it would be a bad thing, it's almost easy to tuck back into his shell after the initial shock of seeing them again wears off, reminding him why he's killing himself studying, and doubling his resolve to crush everything in his path to graduation. After all, if they haven't forgotten him hundreds of millions of miles away then he can do his homework for their sake.

So he puts his nose back to the grindstone and keeps his blinders on as the seasons whip past and the desert nights grow cooler. Sometimes he snags the keys to Shiro's hoverbike off the peg in his room, wandering down to the hanger and nodding to the guard stationed there on his way out. He has his suspicions that Shiro bribed them to let him out, especially since cadets aren't usually authorized to go on night runs past curfew, but they've never spoken to him about it if so. Either way, it's a small kindness that he can't help but be grateful for as he screams out into the desert night. The tension in his shoulders eases, blown away by the wind whipping at his hair as he makes his way to the cliffside they had sat on together so many nights before.

This time, when the wind howls through the canyons and whistles through the rock formation at his back, there is no solid body to snuggle into for warmth. No arm slinging across his shoulders and laughing that he should have brought a jacket... but why would he, when his shivering meant getting pressed into a warm body instead?

Tonight he has his ratty sweatshirt, a reminder of his aching loneliness that the coyote down below echos up to him. He's tempted to howl up at the sky with it, calling out to his own pack, but he knows he'll get just as much of a response as that solitary cry does. It's probably long past the time he should be getting back, but Keith has already done all the studying he can stand for the night, and he knows that going back means another night in one room or the other spent sniffling into a pillow that no longer smells like safety.

But he can't sleep out here... can't risk an infraction on his record without Shiro there to cover for him. His single-minded focus on graduating is only thing keeping him from launching his bike off the cliff and into the desert, speeding toward the horizon like he might hit escape velocity on the curvature and slingshot his way into the stars to follow them.

Except... he can't. He climbs to his feet, staring down at the long drop below him with a sigh, kicking a rock and watching it plummet just to imagine himself doing the same.

The trip back is slower, barely a dust cloud kicked up behind him as he eases into the garage and nods again to the guard. Walking back to the dorms feels like a root canal and he detours to Matt's room, hoping the familiar plastering of doodles will ease the ache in his chest. He's so absorbed in his own emotional rain cloud that he trips on the box propped up against the door and faceplants into it with a dull thud.

The palm reader chirps mockingly at him with its little green light as if to ask 'forgetting something?' He scowls and slaps his palm to it as he rubs the tip of his nose, only hesitating a moment before curiosity has him snagging the box off the floor and bringing it inside. It's taped shut with green duct tape and has little sharpie doodles all over it, addressed from Matt to himself, but the date inked across the stamp is from last week. Keith turns the package over in his hands, not sure what to do with it when he catches sight of a doodle in the bottom corner, a frowning stick figure with shaggy hair and balloons.

'Happy Birthday Sweetcheeks!'

Seconds later the doodle is too blurry to see anymore between Keith's shaking hands and the tears welling in his eyes. He chokes out an incredulous laugh, sliding his fingernails under the tape and lifting the flaps. His sleeve falls victim to his running nose as colorful tissue paper emerges with a card nestled right on top. It takes Keith less than two seconds to have it torn open in trembling fingers.

 

_Hey Sweetcheeks, happy birthday!_

_I bet you thought we would forget since we're like a billion miles away, but you're wrong again as usual! We've had this baby packed and ready to go for ages, Katie and Mom have been holding onto it for safe keeping, so if it's late blame them. Your present from me is in the green wrapping paper and Shiro's (worse gift) is in the purple underneath with its own (not as cool) card. Anyway I hope you're okay and stuff, it's gotta have been a long time since we've launched if you're reading this, so hopefully you didn't have like a massive growth spurt or anything like that and the thing still fits. And... I guess it's kinda weird to write this since technically I'm not gone yet, but I miss you (no romo). I know I will though cause I do already just thinking about it, and man this is kind of a bummer isn't it? Oh well. It's gotta be like the halfway point pretty much, I think we were supposed to touch down in November and this is your eighteenth birthday in October so... oh holy shit, it's your eighteenth. You're a man now! Not that you weren't before, cause trust me I've spent enough days walking funny to vouch for that one... Anyway, I guess this is getting kind of rambling now. Say hi to Katie and Mom if you see them, I'll say hi to Shiro. (We're gonna sneak balloons up there and inflate them just for you so you can say your birthday has been celebrated in space now) But yeah, I guess this is it so._

_Love you buddy, see you soon._

_Matt_

 

Keith's tears hit the ink and splatter, making little smeared puddles as he chokes out a wet laugh, picturing Matt's expressions as he writes. He barely has the presence of mind to dab the spots with his sleeve so they don't run before he's folding the letter up and tucking it aside, tearing into the green wrapping paper. It's a lumpy package with a smaller hard one underneath, and it shreds under his hands, revealing the most ridiculous jacket he's ever seen. It's a cropped red leather thing with white and yellow striping, ridiculous cuffed sleeves, and a giant popped collar. There's a sticky note on it with a smiley face that reads ' _This was the worst thing I could find in the thrift shop and it reminded me of you and that dirty jacket_ ' Keith throws his head back cackling and shrugs off his too small zippered hoodie to replace it with the new jacket. Matt had always hated the hoodie and the way it didn't reach Keith's wrists, he had said it made him look like he was auditioning for a part in Annie. Keith can't say this new one is any cooler, but he's thinking that was the point - and it certainly does fit better.

He tucks his nose into the oversize collar and laughs, fumbling for the smaller package. It's surprisingly heavy for something of its size and he takes more care with the paper this time, pulling it away to uncover a small GPS multi-function tracker tool. It looks like it runs on solar and can attach to a hoverbike. As he reads the packaging it becomes clear how perfect it is for his desert excursions, having the added functionality of saving topographical mapping data into an internal chip and projecting the map into a HUD for a bike... of course the navigator would find this for him after nagging for years about Keith getting lost and eaten by buzzards. He wraps it back up carefully into the carrying pouch and tucks it into his bag, not wanting to even get his finger prints on the state of the art display.

Glancing back into the box Keith sees the purple wrapping paper and another card with Shiro's loopy haphazard handwriting scrawled across the front. His fingers tremble as he reaches for it, sliding his fingertips under the tape and unfolding it with a lump in his throat.

 

_Hi Keith. Happy Birthday._

_I hope Matt remembers to actually get this sent out to you in time, I know it must be hard being alone today. I wish I was there to bake you another terrible cupcake like last year, maybe with a little less charcoal this time, but you'll have to wait until we get back to pretend to like my baking again. I promise we'll have a real party for you at the end of the mission, one for your birthday and one for your graduation. I'm sorry that I can't be there for both of them, I hope you know you mean the world to me. I swear I'll make it up to you somehow when we get back, whatever you want – eighteen is a big year, so you better think of something good._

_It's been a while now since we left but we're almost halfway there and then we'll come back to you. I hope you're thriving, I know you have it in you to be the best the Garrison has ever seen and I can't wait to see you in your greys at landing. I hope you're ready to carry my wobbly-legged body through the debriefing because I'm going to hug you and collapse. And then maybe hug you again. I just... wish you could come with us. I'd give anything to be up there with you and not feel like I'm splitting up the important things in my life – you know?_

_Well, anyway, this got off track. It's your birthday, and I miss you, and I hope you're having the best day that you can. We'll be celebrating up here for you but I heard the rations suck so you'll have to have the cake down there._

_Remember, patience yields focus. We'll be back home soon._

_You are loved._

_Shiro_

 

The splashes of tears on the paper aren't just his this time, he can see dark spots dried on the paper where Shiro must have cried writing it, and it makes him feel just a little less alone. Months apart, millions of miles away, and their tears mingle on a single piece of paper that flutters in his unsteady hands. He watches dully as the last line blurs and runs, unable to stop it with his fist pressed to his eyes.

It shouldn't hurt like this. It's just a letter, and a happy one at that. He's supposed to be celebrating - and he would be if they were here, but now all he feels is bittersweet emotion welling up in his throat. Reading a line like 'you mean the world to me' should have set Keith's heart ablaze... except that the man saying it can reach past the world and into the stars. Of course his would be the only case where meaning the world isn't enough to keep someone by his side.

Sweaty imprints of his fingers crease the edge of the paper and he sets it aside, trying to steady his harsh breathing in the quiet of the room. The purple tissue paper taunts him from the box, a reminder that anything inside can only be a poor replacement for what he really wants. He opens it anyway, determined to rip the bandaid off in one clean movement if it's going to hurt either way. Inside is a pair of supple fingerless gloves, the same pair Keith had been eyeballing in a shop nearly a year ago. A lump rises in his throat at the thought of Shiro noticing his unspoken longing and caring enough to set them aside for this long. His hands still tremble as he reaches inside to pick one up, sliding it on and flexing his fingers to test the fit... perfect of course. The other is heavier, clinking when he picks it up, and a chain slides out of the wrist and clatters to the floor along with the remains of his heart.

Shiro's dog tags lie in a coiled heap, glinting up at him in the dim lighting.

Keith isn't sure if he's still breathing as he stares down at them, mind whirling with the only two scenarios he's ever seen someone give away their tags – marriage and death. Even with Adam, Shiro hadn't exchanged them, preferring to keep his own in case of emergencies... but then again, what could really happen in space that he would need identifying? He stares at them, unable to bend and pick them up, choosing instead to slide on the other glove and stare at his hands.

A note underneath them in the box catches his eye, short and simple in Shiro's scrawl.

_'Hold onto these until I come back for you.'_

Keith swallows hard and turns back to the chain, coiled for all the world like a snake ready to strike... but they go easily into his palm as he scoops them up, light catching on the engraving.

_Shirogane, Takashi – 2/29/2096_

The chain slips easily over his head, settling cold against his heart where he tucks it under his shirt. Resting his palm against it through the cloth he feels it warm with his own body heat. He takes a shuddering breath as he looks at the strewn paper, not bothering to clean it up before sliding into the bed and curling in on himself. In the dark he wishes with every fiber of his being for something he can't describe.

* * *

Days blur by after that, individual moments punctuated by each thump of his heart echoing back against the metal tucked away. The gloves encasing his hands draw looks but no questions, softening the welts left by his grip on the pencil as he toils endlessly through his work. At night he'll drag them over his body just to feel something other than his own calluses catching against his skin. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend its someone else's palms ghosting over his chest, lower and lower until he grazes himself, whimpers filling the dark of the officer's quarters.

Of course when he's left panting in the dark there's nothing to roll into except cold sheets – no shoulder to press his face into, no sticky hand smearing down him with a laugh...

Just his own breathing echoing off the walls.

It's enough to drive him mad, and he rolls off the bed to wipe off in the small attached bathroom, thankful he chose Shiro's room tonight. He brushes his teeth and avoids looking in the mirror, not wanting to see the dark circles and melancholy reflected in them. Spitting dully, he rinses his toothbrush and stands there, not tired enough to sleep, but not able to do much else.

At first thinks he's hallucinating when the data pad chirps three times in the other room – that's not a thing that it does. Trudging back into the dim bedroom he sees it laying on the sheets, blinking green instead of its usual red light. It's enough to make him hurl himself onto the sheet, fingers scrabbling to unlock it and nearly sending it careening off the bed. It blinks on and he waits with baited breath as the message loads, far larger in file size than it normally should be. It blinks once, twice...

And up pops three faces beaming ear to ear, captured in a moment of triumph with Matt in the middle, his arms thrown over the shoulders of his team. Shiro holds the camera, and he's smiling so hard his eyes are nearly closed in joy. Keith can't think of a time he's ever seen him so happy. He slides his thumb over their faces, accidentally swiping to the next and hits a slide of handwritten text, a mix of Shiro and Matt's messy scrawl on a piece of lined paper.

 

_We made it! You're looking at the first official successful expedition to the outer edge of the solar system, and aren't we gorgeous? We sent this relay out at the same time as the official mission update blast – don't tell Dad – so it shouldn't get anyone too suspicious. Just don't send anything back or they'll totally beat your door down about confidentiality and all that garbage. It's only up from here Buddy, this is the halfway point and we're going to be rocketing back home in no time. See you soon!_

_Remember, we miss you, be good, you are loved. Hang in there Keith, we'll meet you on the tarmac in no time. Enjoy the other photos while you can, they'll delete as soon as you're done for your own safety._

~~_Don't worry! I have extra copies up here just so you can look at Shiro's face later._ ~~

_Later Sweetcheeks! We've gotta suit up and grab some chunks of space ice so we can head the hell home! Just a little longer, Keith._

_Matt & Shiro_

 

For a moment Keith considers not even swiping to the other photos, not wanting them to disappear into nothingness. True to their words, the first photo was already gone and a small part of him rebelled at the notion, despite knowing it had to be this way for the security of the mission. Curiosity gets the better of him in the end and he swipes onward, trying not to wince at the pang in his chest as their words fade into nothing. The first photo is a picture of Shiro sleeping in zero g, either floating out of his bunk incidentally or having a little help, but the drool that would have pooled onto his pillow has nowhere to go and floats in a little cloud around his head. It's as adorable as it is objectively disgusting, and he traces over it with the tip of his finger before swiping onto the next. This time it's Matt, face twisted in horror as he cleans the waste receptacle that must be malfunctioning. It looks like an old Renaissance painting, one hand thrown out toward the approaching glob and his face yanked in the other direction. The red glow of their night cycle lighting casts the scene in a particularly dramatic play of shadows, and Keith really hopes this is one of the photos they'll save so he can blow it up and have it framed.

He swipes again and sees the remains of his birthday party, a handmade banner made of official mission report forms and what appears to be crayon spelling out 'Happy Birthday Keith' across the doorway to the module. Even Sam is wearing a silly paper cone party hat, smiling good-naturedly as unnecessarily large balloons float in the middle of the capsule like beach balls. They appear to be clinking pouches of cake flavored gel together in a cheers motion, and now it really makes sense that these photos are set to self destruct. He can only imagine the look on Iverson's face if he knew how their precious resources were being used to make one lonely cadet smile... and smile he does as he slides to the next photo, promptly choking on his spit and howling in laughter at the caption. It's a candid shot of Shiro, face splattered in purple gel that oozes down his face. His mouth is open as if he were mid word and Keith has to agree with Matt on this one.

He giggles and sighs in turn as he swipes through them one by one, mostly they're mundane pictures of life aboard the shuttle, sometimes they're treats that Matt definitely sprinkled in just for him - like the picture of Shiro, shirtless and shimmering with sweat on their exercise machine, keeping himself up for the long journey. It's ostensibly a selfie of Matt's face, but the shit eating grin and raised eyebrow toward the background give away the teasing he can almost hear in his head. Keith might linger on that one a little longer than the others, but who's really around to judge him? By the time he gets to the end the constant companionship of crushing loneliness has been alleviated just a bit, only swooping back in when he swipes the last picture through and the data pad goes back to blinking red like nothing ever happened.

It's dark in the dorm room now, only lit by the red glow of the one emergency light on the smoke detector. He can hear the faucet dripping in the bathroom like it always has, a sound that would drive Shiro crazy on the nights when they were trying to study together... it never did get fixed in the hectic pre-launch schedule. The sound is soothingly familiar and it lulls him into sleep, curled around the stolen pillow with a twinge of satisfaction at being the first to get the biggest news of the decade.

Morning comes the easiest it has in months now that he has the inevitable announcement to look forward to. He knows it's not likely that they could have gotten a video to send successfully from that distance, so it's probably more of the same as last night, but hopefully a few of the official pictures make it in so he can have a tangible reminder that it's nearly over.

His excitement, or at least lack of crippling melancholy, must show on his face as he floats down the halls – drawing stares and curious murmurs as he passes by. They'll all find out soon enough, but he's content to keep his secret for the time being, something special just between the three of them. His classes fly by and he can barely eat his lunch, knee bouncing under the table as he taps out a rhythm on his tray with a fork. Some gangly kid sitting one table over scowls at him, but Keith doesn't give a single shit after the news from last night – he's made it this far and nothing is going to bring down his mood today.

Finally they get the announcement over the loudspeaker for all personnel to please assemble in the auditorium, and Keith practically skips there, settling into his chair impatiently as the rest of the Garrison files in.

The butterflies in his stomach at the thought of hearing it out loud are in full flight as he cranes his neck to look for the video equipment and the usual projector... but it's not there.

His shoulders slump a little in disappointment over not being able to see another round of photos, but really who is he to complain? He already has more information than anyone else about the mission, not to mention the memory of Shiro's pecs in glistening zero g.

Now that the immediacy of getting to see more pictures is gone, Keith takes the chance to look around the auditorium. The entirely admiralty of the Garrison is lined up against one wall with Iverson looking especially grim just out of the edge of the spotlight. The tension in his shoulders sets the butterflies churning into something else, but no... it's normal for everyone to be there on such a historic occasion. Of course Iverson would be nervous making the announcement of the last century, anyone would be... Keith is nervous just to hear it and he already knows.

His knee is bouncing again before he realizes it, and the kid in the seat next to him throws him a sharp look. Keith can't be bothered to reign it in even if he wanted to, but he gives his best attempt at an apologetic smile... he can afford to be charitable today of all days.

After what feels like an eternity, everyone is seated and the auditorium doors swing shut with a clang that echoes in the hall. Iverson looks to Admiral Sanda as if for last minute confirmation, a flash of indecision warring over his face. She narrows her eyes at him, lips thin as she gives a jerky nod back. He blows a breath out and Keith mirrors it with his own as Iverson's polished shoes catch the spotlight and his steps clack across the floor, settling a hush over the assembled crowd. His hands shake a touch as he reaches to grip the edge of the wooden podium. The spotlight catches on a glimmer of sweat beading at his hairline and highlights the trail it leaves down his temple. The microphone picks up a whisper of a prayer, unintelligible noise to anyone not watching his lips.

Keith's stomach twists again, pulse starting to rise as something in him screams at the wrongness of it all. Where are the banners? Where is the broadcast? Where is the elation and celebration of skill?

The microphone squeals as a thick finger taps it once, twice. It's shrill against Keith's frazzled nerves and he leans forward in his seat, sweaty palms rubbing mindlessly on the thighs of his uniform trousers. His instincts are still screaming at him that something isn't right, but he knows there's nothing to be afraid of. He _knows._ He saw it himself.

Iverson clears his throat, pauses to take a breath, and clears it again.

“Cadets, officers.... personnel. I-” He hesitates, looks over to Sanda and gets narrowed eyes in return. “-I regret to inform you that...” His eyes skim across the crowd, landing directly on Keith and he closes his eyes. Keith can feel his pulse start to skyrocket, every molecule in his body going into fight or flight for no goddamn reason. He grits his teeth and breathes hard through his nose, choking down the irrational panic as his chest heaves and caves in on each breathe. Iverson swallows hard and Keith watches his throat work in slow motion, watches his lips form around his next words even if he doesn't hear them over the ringing in his ears. “-regret to inform you that the Kerberos mission has failed.”

A collective gasp breaks over the auditorium. Someone screams. Several someones begin to wail. Keith's entire world shrinks down to the point of a pin, just the prick of the spotlight in his vision as questions whirl through his mind. What happened? Were they stuck by an asteroid? Did the mining equipment malfunction and blow? Did the life support get damaged by a meteor shower? Is there any hope of recovery? Did-

“It has been determined that the shuttle crashed on the landing attempt and...” Iverson closes his eyes again, murmuring something under his breath. “The official cause has been deemed pilot error.”

_No._

Keith feels the bile climbing in his throat, clawing up his esophagus with the scream that ricochets around inside his skull. Someone is still talking over the loudspeaker. There's weeping behind him, to his side, in front of him... there's weeping everywhere. Bodies are moving, pushing against him as he fails to draw breath and his world keeps narrowing, narrowing. His lungs burn, screaming for oxygen and he opens his mouth to do... something? Vomit rushes out and shock sets in as his body spasms, trying to draw breath between heaves. The ringing in his ears hasn't stopped and all he can see is his hands in front of him, clad in leather gloves. The same gloves that held onto the data pad and swiped and swiped and swiped on Shiro's bed not a day ago. He couldn't have imagined that, he _saw_ them, he _knows_ they made it. His chest spasms again, and his vision dims as his mind claws against this reality.

Then he knows nothing at all.

* * *

Waking up in the infirmary is something that Keith thought he had grown out of. He hasn't had to go for more than incidental scrapes since Shiro had convinced him to solve his problems without doing any brawling. The white walls and curtains are as disorienting as ever when he sits up, strangely void of pain. He notes the lack of jacket idly, certain it's just around the corner somewhere, and swings his legs off over the edge of the bed. The floor is cold against his feet – cold enough to have him gritting his teeth. His boots are set to the side and he pulls them on, swallowing dryly and instantly noting the sour taste in his mouth. He smacks his lips with a grimace and pulls the curtain back, intending to look for water and an explanation when a woman with a clipboard on the other side perks up.

Her smile is soft and sympathetic as she steps carefully over to him, ignoring his wary look and offering her outstretched hand.

“Hello cadet, I've heard you've had quite the day.”

Her voice is as kind as her smile, but something about the tone sets his teeth on edge and has him shying away from the outstretched hand, no matter how rude it might be.

“Water?” He grunts, half a question as he looks around the room with furrowed brows. “What happened?”

“Oh.” She looks at him carefully and scribbles something onto her clipboard, mouth pulling into a frown before giving him a pained glance. She points to a bottle on a side table and he grabs it without looking at her. “Well, you had a panic attack and hit your head on the way down.”

Keith cocks his head at her in question as he uncaps the water and takes a swig. That doesn't seem quite right and his head feels fine, even if the last few hours are a little blurry. He can remember his classes the day before, going to Shiro's room, the message Matt had sent, his morning classes...

“I feel fine.” The gruffness of his tone makes her flinch and he wrinkles his nose, reminding himself to be patient as he tries again. “My head doesn't hurt, can I go?”

“Well... there's ah-” She shifts uncomfortably, clicking the pen by her clipboard and shuffling some of the papers there, pulling one to the top. “There's still the matter of sorting out next of kin, and-”

“What.”

The word comes out like sandpaper on glass, and Keith's head starts to spin again. Maybe he did hit it... there was something for lunch yesterday, mac and cheese maybe? And then an announcement...

“I know it's a lot to deal with so soon, but the Garrison wanted to get everyone's affairs sorted out as quickly as possible to avoid media interference... we can try to get you a day or two to-”

“No, what are-” Keith shakes his head, frustrated. Her words are a jumble, making sense on their own but they're a mess put together. He's not anyone's next of kin, he's not anyone's anything... he just went to the auditorium yesterday, they were going to announce the landing and... He grits his teeth at the sudden headache and gives her a look, not caring for niceties anymore. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

The shuffling stills and she looks up at him, half alarmed and half pitying.

“Takashi Shirogane listed you as his next of kin in the event of his death.”

The air sucks out of the room and the auditorium comes roaring back, like some terrible dream following him into waking hours. His hands shake, but his breathing remains deceptively calm this time. He knows better, he saw. He _knows_ that he saw.

“No.”

The word is whispered, but hits the air like a gunshot. The woman shakes her head, bewildered half smile pulling onto her face by instinct.

“I beg your pardon?”

Purple eyes drag up from his hands to meet hers, and it feels as if she's being stared down by a carnivorous predator.

“Shiro. Isn't. Dead.”

She swallows hard and edges backward, reaching over for the call button.

“Don't!” It comes out like a growl and her hand stills, hovering over the button. Keith can feel his teeth bared but he feels like he's floating somewhere far above his body. “I'm not crazy.”

She shakes her head frantically, brittle smile still in place as her hand lifts off, coming to hover in the air in front of her. Keith feels himself relax a fraction at the motion, his fingers uncurling from where they had shredded the curtain next to him.

“Of course not...” Her tone is soothing, as if she were talking to a feral cat at the zoo. “It's been a long day... denial is the natural first reaction.”

Keith bristles again, eyes narrowing, but he doesn't react. His mind churns, clear and razor sharp now instead of panicked. Hot fury boils in his veins and he can feel the blood rising into his face. Shiro isn't dead, but they're going to let him die.

This is a cover, and if Matt hadn't sent those files it would have worked... but he had the only copies and now they're gone. Keith swallows down the venom ready to spill from his lips and clears his throat. Though there must be something in his expression that he can't control, since her hand creeps back toward the button.

“Naturally.” It comes out nearly a growl and he clears his throat again, fighting down the urge to bare his teeth at his enemy. The smile he sends her way must have the same effect if the flinch is anything to go off. “Can I see the papers?”

They shake as she passes them over and he skims them, flipping through to the list of possessions. Shiro didn't have much beyond the personal effects in his room, the hoverbike, and a modest bank account that his officer's pay has been going into, to be transferred to Keith's name effective immediately.

It will have to work.

Keith draws the nib through the signature line, accepting the transfer of property and agreeing to whatever funeral arrangements the Garrison sees fit. It doesn't matter. There's no body to bury, and Keith will prove it.

“Can I have his room packed up and placed in storage since I'm here?”

He flicks his eyes up to her after a moment of silence and catches the nervous wringing of her hands. She drops them into her lap and nods at him, holding another paper out for him to sign – a storage agreement. The bank account will cover the small fee to store it for decades even if Keith decides to dip into it to live off. The nib drags through that line too and he hands it back, steady.

“Anything else?” She shakes her head, throat working over a dry swallow with a wince, and gathers the papers. “Then I need to go.”

She doesn't stop him as he grabs his bag from the floor and his jacket off the hook on the wall, both thankfully scrubbed free from the vomit that he remembers now, still sitting acrid on the back of his tongue. The halls are quiet as he stalks through them, likely in the middle of an instructional period, and he's thankful for the temporary reprieve. He can only imagine what the bets would be now... if someone thinks they won out today they're wrong.

The few people he does cross paths with practically fling themselves out of his way, giving him wide-eyed stares as he makes his way to Shiro's room. There's tape over the doorway when he gets there and he tears it down with a growl... the nameplate next to the door is already gone. Thankfully they hadn't thought to change the entry code of a dead man, and he palms himself in with no problem, sweeping through the room and gathering up anything that he doesn't want to go into storage. A pile of cranes and some knick knacks slide into the bag, he pockets the bike keys, but everything else is really too big to take. He hesitates for a moment at the closet, staring at the leather jacket hanging there, but it will be safer boxed up.

Swiping his data pad off the desk, he turns to survey the room, filled with the ghosts of their time together, but ultimately an empty shell now. He presses his palm to his chest to feel the bite of the tags into his skin and leaves without a backward glance.

Class has let out by the time he makes it to Matt's residential wing, and he's given a wide berth in the halls. Whispers swirl around him, a few people try to share kind platitudes but their words fall on deaf ears. Too little, too late. They believe this garbage, eating up a lie about their 'hero' crashing and burning on a run he can do blindfolded. As if Shiro would ever crash a shuttle that had his family on board, as he was even capable of a failure of that magnitude... they're all traitors. Disloyal.

He slaps his hand to the reader and it blinks him in green, ignoring the eyes of the people in the hall as it slides shut. Technically, he's not supposed to be in here anymore. The executor of Matt's will, Colleen probably, will have the job of cleaning it out... but she doesn't know, won't understand that they're not dead. So he gives the room a sweep, grabbing all the doodles tacked to the board and cleaning up the dirty laundry left by both of them, still sitting there a year later. The GPS unit goes into his bag as well and the red leather jacket gets slung across his shoulders. He grabs Matt's tablet and unlocks it, wiping the search history like Matt would want and setting the screensaver to a picture of his family, erasing the plethora of nudes in various ridiculous poses that they had accumulated.

Then he keys in Matt's locking override on the door, settling on the bed with his own data pad, thumb hovering over the emergency relay button. He sucks in a deep breath and presses it, instantly activating a series of green flashes and chirps as a short antennae extends from the top of the pad. A text box pops up with a blinking cursor. His thumbs shake as he taps.

_SOS. Mission deemed failure. Cover-Up in progress. Need proof. Please Respond._

The tablet chirps again, antennae extending farther for a brief moment before blinking three times and retracting. The message sits on sent for a minute... then another. Keith can hear the thundering of boots down the hallway and knows the transmission has been picked up. Then the tablet blinks, message status flashing to received, and a thrill goes down Keith's spine.

Someone got it. They're alive and the communications rig is still active.

There's pounding on the door now and he can feel the savage grin on his face. He'll make them see, make them retract their lies. He climbs to his feet and unlocks the door, stepping out of the way as officers stumble through. His chin lifts and he narrows his eyes at them, clutching the data pad to his chest.

“Take me to Iverson.”

* * *

Iverson waves the guards away as Keith gets pushed into the office, one hand rubbing at his temples and the other settling back to a glass of amber liquid.

“Cadet.” He drops the hand from his face and fixes Keith with a look. “Why were you sending encoded messages into deep space.”

The question is so perfunctory it isn't a question at all, and Keith takes it upon himself to respond in kind.

“Why are you lying about the crash.”

The hand around the glass tightens fractionally and Iverson's eyes narrow.

“Kid, I get that you were close with them, but they're dead.”

“They're not!” Keith growls slapping the pad on the table. “I received the same landing update you did at 0100 hours the night before your announcement. I _saw_ them on the ground with my own eyes.”

Iverson jerks back at the ferocity and eyes the tablet.

“And you can prove it?”

Keith grits his teeth and spins it around to show the message still on received until Keith swipes off the screen.

“The communications module is still working, it accepts the relays, _they didn't crash_.”

Iverson eyes the tablet for a moment before slumping back in his chair.

“I see.”

Keith sucks in a breath, trembling on the edge of hope that it would really be so easy. His hand slides off the tablet as Iverson picks up his glass and downs it in one gulp.

“So what do we-”

A hand slams down with a crunch.

The highball glass sits embedded in the middle of the shattered screen, sparks flying as condensation drips inside it. Keith stares at it, numb with shock as his hand twitches on the desk. He can feel panic rising in his chest again as his breathing goes shallow.

“What-” He shakes his head frantically, vision blurring. He jerks his head up to Iverson's face, his own contorted in anguish. “Why?”

Iverson heaves a sigh and stands. “They're as good as dead, son.” Keith trembles like a leaf in the chair, eyes unseeing as he stares at the pad. Iverson reaches out to put a hand on the cadet's shoulder, ignoring the heavy flinch at the touch. “We can't send a rescue, not against that, and they'll be dead before we can get out there again in all likelihood.”

Against what? The words don't penetrate Keith's haze. His head swims with the image of Matt and Shiro, slowly dying out there with no hope of getting back... of needing a rescue in the first place. Something terrible happened but they're still alive and they're going to let them die alone, freezing, starving, dehydrated, in _agony._

“NO!” The chair launches backward as he shoots to his feet, baring his teeth at the man in front of him. “You're going to fix this, you're going to save them!” He's screaming now, his already raw throat burning.

Iverson slaps the button under his desk and the guards come rushing back in the room, grabbing Keith by each arm. A wild fury seizes him then, he needs to escape, he needs to prove that they're lying, to force them into sending a rescue mission. He throws an elbow backward, hitting something with a satisfying crunch. Blood sprays onto the side of his face but the hand on his forearm goes slack. He spins, throwing his fist into the gut of the other guard and slamming his knee into his vulnerable face as he doubles over. The blood splatters extend to his uniform now.

They collapse in a heap behind him and he turns back to Iverson, the man now advancing on him with a needle and intent to subdue. He can't let it happen, can't let them drug him into a stupor and lie, letting them waste away up there...

A quick kick sends the chair skittering into the older man's knees and he staggers forward, dropping the syringe. Before he can collect himself Keith is there, grabbing the highball from the shattered data pad and smashing it into his face.

He goes down hard and doesn't stir, blood leaking from the glass shards embedded in his skin.

Keith doesn't spare him a backward glance as he grabs his bag and sprints out of the office, leaving a trail of confused secretaries in his wake. More guards rush toward the commotion, passing him in the hall as he ducks into an alcove. They don't spare him a second glance.

The last sprint to the hanger is frantic, the alarms starting to blare on base now. He peels around the corner and nearly slams face first into Griffin, darting around him at the last second.

“Keith, wait!”

He can feel the snarl peel across his face as he turns, eyes flashing and sticky with someone else's blood.

“They're not fucking dead, I can fucking prove it!”

Griffin jerks back, eyes going wide as he takes him in. He hesitates, hands twitching on his tablet, but he doesn't call the guards. His swallow is audible and he nods once at Keith before turning and walking away. Keith breathes a sigh of relief at the first show of understanding he's had in months. He dashes the last few hundred meters to the hanger and throws himself over Shiro's hoverbike, yanking the goggles over his head. It starts with a roar, and his blood sings in agreement as he guns it toward the gate.

The guard sees him, looks toward the strobing lights, and punches the hanger door open with a salute.

Keith returns it as he blows past, watches the gate shut behind him to buy precious seconds, then he's hitting dirt and tearing up the desert in front of him.

The wind whips through his hair and if he closes his eyes he can almost imagine Shiro by his side, whooping at the speed and pushing ahead. He flies through the canyons, wary of being caught out now, and pushes himself forward through trails that echo in distant memory. Hours later under the fading sun, the bike pulls up in front of an old shack, long forgotten but tugging at his chest. Keith cuts the engine and hops off, pulling his goggles up and wiping the grime from his face as he checks the GPS. He'll definitely be off the radar here, and, judging by the generator leaning against the shingles, probably off the grid as well... if memory serves there should still even be radio equipment.

The door isn't locked as he throws a hip into it, unsticking the old wood from the frame. Dust puffs up around him as he steps inside, peering into the gloom and pressing a hand against his nose and mouth. He can almost hear the whispers of his childhood in the creaking of the walls, the rushing of the desert wind as it rattles the windows, a low rumbling laugh spilling through the open doorway... he shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. A cursory glance confirms his vague recollections - a pile of communications equipment sits in the corner next to a cork board. The threadbare couch next to it sags in the middle, illuminated by the rising moon that shines through moth eaten curtains. A twist of the faucet sets the pipes shuddering before water trickles out, rusty at first, then blessedly clear.

If this is the legacy of his father he will need to add a tally to the debt he'll never be able to repay. He'd like to think it's some kind of karma that kept the place standing, one good thing against the rest of his shitty life... but fate isn't that kind. He spins a final circle around the place, letting nostalgia wash over him as he pushes up his sleeves. There is work to be done.

Outside the howl of a lone coyote rises up to the stars, this time Keith howls with it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THIS ISN'T THE END REALLY.
> 
> I'm just not gonna write all the way back through canon, so I'm gonna make a second part and slap them in a series to get away from it. It'll go up innn probably a few days when I write it if I feel like not doing my mountains of approaching deadlines. :)
> 
> As usual, feel free to hit me up, @illunelurks on twitter.


End file.
